#small price to pay for dark hank

[jdmara]

bill hader get behind me

[3pirouette]

Fic: Worthy (or Five Times Steve Talked to People about Time Travel and One Time He Didn’t) (1/1)

By: TriplePirouette/3Pirouette

Disclaimer: They're not mine. Distribution: AO3 Anyone else please ask first :)

Story Summary: “What…what if I stay?” He took a breath. “I don’t feel like there’s much for me there… in the future… anymore. I’m tired. I wanted… I wanted to hang up the shield when that war was over… I think I’ve given more than my fair share.” His words fell to nothing as he finished that sentence. “I only ever wanted to do my fair share…”

A/N: I started this on August 8, 2019. I have revisited it various times since then, fixing things that were misremembered after we got Endgame on DVD and fixing tenses. It feels more appropriate than ever right now to post, though. The first section, with Wanda, was written back in 2019. I’ve made minor edits, but her words have been around LONG before WandaVision was even announced. Obviously, by the ending, AU.

Also, I KNOW I skip potentially the MOST important person he should be talking to, but Steve’s conversation with Bucky from this fic actually got pulled out and turned into it’s own fic/universe: Six Dates, Times, and Places. Read that if you need some BFF Steve and Bucky.

~*~

Steve woke up at night in cold sweats, still feeling the vibranium cracking under his fingers as he tried to recenter himself, as he tried to remember where he was. The small tent on the edge of the former battlefield wasn’t much, but it was better than he’d been used to when he was in the trenches, and it was enough for now.

He let other people, better equipped people like Pepper and Strange and Sam handle the big stuff- the cities and the government and the publicity and the how of everything they did. He was never really prepared for what happened if they brought everyone back, he admitted it to himself now on dark nights when he woke up with his heart racing, that he never really thought they’d do it.

He headed up the clean-up: walking through the destruction and trying to put some order to it, helping dig out the bodies of good men and women who lost their lives, who wouldn’t be brought back by a snap, helping destroy the tech that Thanos had brought so it never fell into the wrong hands. He and Wanda spent their days putting right what went so very, very wrong.

Even with everything nearly done, with the building nearly ready for renovation and every lost soul accounted for and laid to rest, it didn’t seem over. It had been weeks, and yet the years before seemed like moments. He spent his days moving like a ghost, going from task to task, keeping his thoughts to himself.

After it was over, when the clean-up was deemed done and it had been decided it was time to move on, Wanda was the first person he said anything to as they stood together on the ridge, overlooking the old Avengers headquarters as it was bulldozed to the ground. “I should probably feel happier,” Wanda mumbled. “At peace.”

Steve sighed, looking at the scorched dirt beneath his feet: it was ruined. Nothing would grow there for years after the hit it took. “You don’t have to feel anything.” He looked at her, unsurprised to find tears slowly making their way down her cheeks. “I don’t.”

“I’ve thought so many times about…” The words caught in her throat, but she took a deep breath and continued, “About sneaking into Bruce’s lab and taking that stone. The time stone…”

Steve didn’t say anything, just waited for her to finish: he was afraid that his own selfish desires regarding that stone would just fuel her own.

“But going back wouldn’t fix it,” her words were as much for his benefit as her own. They both knew it was far, far too tempting.

“You don’t think so?” He played the devils advocate, and it felt good to let it out. “You don’t think that maybe you two could just avoid it all? Or even stop it all?”

“After this?” She looked over the dead land and shuddered. “The way I understand it, it would always happen, would always come. And I just…” Her voice broke, and there was a darkness in her eyes he was uncomfortable with when she turned to face him. “I just couldn’t live through that again.”

Wanda turned to walk away, but stopped, looking back at him. “We deserve more,” she whispered. “We’ve lost everything to make this happen. We deserve more.”

It wasn’t much of a conversation, but it was enough to remind him that those dark thoughts were just that- thoughts. And those thoughts would have consequences he wasn’t ready to pay the price for, or so he told himself.

Deep down, he felt like he deserved something, too.

~*~

The next time he discussed time travel was with Bruce and Hank. Pym was describing the use of his newly altered regulators while Bruce was constructing a smaller platform. This would be the last time, they both said over and over, that it would be used. Pym planned to destroy all references to the quantum realm in his work and Bruce had been working with Fury and Shield to carefully control the flow of information about what had happened.

“Son, please tell me you understand how dangerous this little trip of yours is going to be?” Pym asked him softly, laying both his hands on the table as he looked him right in the eyes. For a minute, Steve felt like he was back with Erskine- Pym had the ability to see straight into his soul the same way that man did.

“I understand, sir.” Steve nodded, trying to hide every morsel of dark thought, every late-night inkling and every dark moment. He was going to bring the stones back, return, and… and…  He doesn’t know where he fits in in this new world, doesn’t even know if he wants to, really, and that must be what Pym saw on his face.

Pym narrowed his eyes at him, but didn’t move. The silence stretched so long that even Bruce stopped what he was doing to look over and watch. “Ask your question.”

Steve could barely hold the façade of surprise for a breath before it fell. He let the pretense fall away: his shoulders hunched, his eyes dropped to the floor, and he felt like a different man. He felt like Steve, the broken veteran, and not Captain America, the superhero. “How much… how much damage can I really do?”

Before Pym could speak, Bruce put down his wrench and had his hand on Steve’s shoulder. “I know that look, Steve. That’s the look I had about a million times before I left every place that ever meant anything to me.”

Pym slid a stool over and sat softly, his face grim. “There’s not much that you could say that would surprise either of us, so I suggest you come out with it.”

Steve looked at them, their faces as open and honest as his was at every grief management group he ran during the dusted years: they were waiting for him to say that he wasn’t coming back because he wanted to take his life.

But it was more like he wanted to take his life back.  It hadn’t been his since Erskine accepted him into Project Rebirth, he just didn’t know it then.

“Don’t I…” He stopped, staring at his shoes. It took a lot for him to look up, into their eyes. “I don’t feel like…” He stopped again and took another deep breath. He wasn’t sure if they’d ever understand. He wasn’t sure if they could.

He shoved his hand in his pocket and it bumped against him compass. His lifeline. His reminder.  

He knew their stories. If anyone could understand, they would.

He pulled the compass out and opened it gently, putting it on the table. “Her name was…”

“Peggy Carter,” Pym finished. “She busted my balls as the head of Shield, but she was on my side when it counted.” Pym turned the compass gently, noting the slow spin of the broken dial.

Bruce looked at Steve, sadness in his eyes. “Steve, I didn’t…”

“No, I didn’t want anyone to know.” He shrugged, taking the compass in his hands. “She died, right before the bombing and the signing of the Sakovia Accords.”

Pym stood, the scraping of his chair cutting off anything either man would have said. “You were… a lot skinnier when you met her, weren’t you?” He stepped next to Steve, hands shoved in his pockets. “Kinda sickly, too.”

Steve laughed, a slight smile on his face as the memory hit him. “I wasn’t exactly in the best shape of my life.”

“Director Carter kept this picture on her desk of a skinny, kinda confused looking GI.” He looked up at Bruce, “I asked her about it one day. I knew she had a husband that no one ever got to meet, and that he was at least 6 inches taller than her based on the glimpse I managed of him once when I showed up at her house unannounced.” Hank began to circle the room, hands coming out and fidgeting. “She said it was someone she knew during the war, and that it was a reminder to never take a single thing for granted. Now, most people assumed it was her brother who was KIA.” He turned and looked at both men, a smirk on his lips. “But the way she smiled when she looked at it: it wasn’t sad and it wasn’t sisterly, either.”

Pym picked up a vial of the serum, looking at it. “Bruce, correct me if I’m wrong, but to be as honest as I can be, we really don’t know what kind of damage you could do if you go back and…” he chose his words carefully, “don’t stick to the plan.”

“Uh, that’s true. We really don’t know how this works; I just know what Strange and The Ancient One told me. That if we put them back, it should kinda… fix itself.” Banner shrugged, unsure if he was as onboard with what Pym was implying as Pym seemed to be.

Pym almost looked happy as he continued to think out loud. “We don’t know the rules. For all we know, there are no rules to it. The Quantum Realm is… nearly unknowable. But the way she looked at that picture…” He sighed, placing the vial back in its rack. He looked Steve in the eyes, open, honest, and unjudging. “You’ll have enough to get back, if you want to.”

Pym went back to his computer, and Bruce went back to his tinkering, and Steve never heard another word on the subject from either of them.

~*~

His first stop in the past was the sanctum. He wanted to meet the Ancient One, to see her, to hear what Bruce had told them for himself directly from her.

She didn’t disappoint. She took the stone back, letting it float into the locket she wore with no more fanfare than if she were asking him about the weather. “So, I assume you prevailed?”

“We did,” he confirmed, sitting when she gestured for him to join her in the library. “There were still losses…” he sighed deeply, thinking of Tony, “but we won.”

She sat quietly, waiting expectantly as the tic of the clock was the only sound between them for long minutes. “In your time,” she whispered gently. “Your question is not something that can be rushed.”

“Do you know what I’m going to ask?” He leaned forward, letting Mjolnir rest on the floor, the case full of stones next to it.

“No,” she tried to smile but it fell flat. “I can feel the anger and frustration coming off you in waves, the defeat, the… fatigue. You did not come to me first out of convenience.”

He looked away, still unsure of where to start even though he had said it a million times over in his head. In the end, he blurted it out. “What if I stay?”

He’d caught her off guard, for it wasn’t remotely what she thought he’d ask. She sat straighter; eyes wide. “I’m sorry?”

“What…what if I stay?” He took a breath. “I don’t feel like there’s much for me there… in the future… anymore. I’m tired. I wanted… I wanted to hang up the shield when that war was over… I think I’ve given more than my fair share.” His words fell to nothing as he finished that sentence. “I only ever wanted to do my fair share…”

She looked at him, wonderment in her eyes, “You never planned on giving up your whole life.”

He tried to laugh it off. “The things you don’t understand when you’re barely more than a kid, right?”

“You had hopes and dreams, just like any other man out there.” The Ancient One stood, stepping toward him. “Why that surprises me, I’m not sure. Even Gods are men at their very core. Even I was once a woman with hopes and desires.”

“It feels wrong to say these things out loud...” he let his hands fall to Mjolnir, afraid to try to lift it. Every day since the battle he’d been surprised that it still comes so easily to his hand.

She came closer until she was kneeling before him. “And yet they must be said.” She waited until he met her gaze. “If you go back to your time, my future, what waits for you?”

He took a deep breath, leaning back, eyes far away. “Friends. Duty.” He sighed with the weight of the world on his shoulders. “Putting the world back together and finding our place in the universe.”

Her expression didn’t change. “And what waits for you if you go back to the past?”

He couldn’t look at her. “I don’t… I don’t know if…”

The Ancient One put her hand on his. “What do you hope is there?”

Steve smiled briefly, the words out before he can stop them. “I had a date.”

“Love,” she whispers, almost disappointed.

“And understanding,” Steve pipes in quickly. His words grow passionate as he continues. “She knew me better than anyone ever has- she knew me before this,” he gestured to himself, not for the first time wishing his muscles were a suit he could shed to show people just what he was like, and why it’s so significant that Peggy understood him back then, “and she still stood by me. I got the feeling… I got the feeling that even if the serum never worked she still would have liked me. No, I’m sure of it. She was smart and beautiful and everything I ever dreamed my future might be.” He stopped short. “Don’t... don’t I deserve that, after all this?”  

“The universe doesn’t deal in ‘deserves’ Mr. Rogers.” She stood, her voice flat and perfunctory. “If it did children wouldn’t die of cancer and good men wouldn’t die in religious wars.” She kept her hand on his, pulling him to his feet. “The universe deals in balance, though, and I feel you are due for some rest.” She reached down, lifting the case of stones and handing it to him, but she did not even attempt to lift the hammer. “Go on,” she waited as he gingerly lifted the hammer, his breath coming easy after it was in his hand. “I cannot tell you anything for sure. But I can tell you the sanctums you know of are in existence back farther than you could imagine. Should you feel things have taken a turn for the worse, do not hesitate to find me.”

Her smile was gentle, and somewhat forced, but it made him feel just a little better.

~*~

The soul stone disappeared from his case as soon as he materialized, and he didn’t stay to find out why. He understood the toll that place could take, and he had so very little left to give.

He left so quickly he didn’t hear the Red Skull whisper his name on the wind.

~*~

Once on Asgard, he thought about just putting the hammer down and letting Thor find it, but he decided that wielding it might just get him out of trouble if he was caught trying to make his way into the palace through the underground tunnels Thor told him about.

The only person who saw him was the one he least expected.

“Why did he send you?” Loki asked from behind the forcefield. “Unless… he isn’t…”

“No, he’s not dead.” Steve supplied the information wearily.

The god paced his cell, “You’re from the future, as well, then?” He smiled at the soldier. “Thor was looking a bit… pudgy.” His voice and face showed his confusion and slight repulsion at the idea. “That’s not the Thor running around with his little girlfriend up there now. I know that much.”

“Things went…bad.” Steve didn’t know how much to tell the man. He believed Thor when he said Loki wasn’t the villain they pegged him to be, but he also was still very wary of the god. “We…did what we could.”

“Could you be any more cryptic?” Loki sat on his bed, leaning back, amusement in his voice. “Interesting development, though, there,” he pointed to Thor’s hammer, “You must truly be something to wield that.”

Something must have changed in Steve’s face, something barely perceptible, but Loki saw it. “You doubt yourself?”

Steve knew he shouldn’t talk to him, and yet, there was something alluring about the trickster. “I’m… concerned I won’t be… worthy.” It sounded lame even to him as it fell out of his lips.

Loki laughed. “Who is?” The trickster paced. He started to speak, then changed his mind with a dramatic shake of his head. He stopped, crouching behind the forcefield so he was eye to eye with Steve. “Whatever it is rattling around in your head… You’re leaving Mjolnir here, aren’t you?” Steve nodded. “Then does it really matter if you’re worthy?”

Steve looked at the god, his mind clicking slowly around the idea that perhaps his own morality didn’t matter. He tilted his head and regarded the hammer. “This is the only thing I’ve ever really wanted purely for myself, and somehow that seems wrong.”

Loki stood, smoothing out his coat with a huffed laugh. “You’re talking to a man who has been politely described as a narcissistic megalomaniac. The only things I’ve ever really wanted were for myself. I learned that lesson young.” He looked Steve right in the eyes. “If you don’t want it for yourself, whatever ‘it’ is, no one else will want it for you.” Something sad fell behind Loki’s eyes though his face didn’t change. “No one will just give you what your heart desires, not when you’re giving them what they need. They’re thinking about themselves, not you. Sometimes, you have to just take it.”

The revelation settled like a rock in the pit of Steve’s stomach. He didn’t want to believe it, but somehow it felt right. ‘Captain America’ served a purpose. He filled a hole that needed filling by someone and as long as he was there, they were going to take advantage of that.

He didn’t need to take over the world, as Loki had attempted, but he needed to take what he deserved before there was nothing left to have.

Before there was nothing left of him to enjoy it.

~*~

With each step through the Lehigh base he kept thinking one thought: this is too easy.

There were less guards, less people, than when he’d been here last, and theoretically, if he’d done things right, that should only have been less than a few minutes ago. He tried not to dwell on the knot settling in the base of his stomach as he swiftly moved to put back the tesseract.

He almost had it slid in nice and tight when the voice came over his shoulder. “Jarvis said he saw you. I thought the man was nuts, but he refused to leave.”

Steve let his head fall, his hands on the edge of the glowing box. “Howard…”

“I didn’t tell anyone, just cleared out the base.” Steve heard the soft footsteps as his former friend joined him. “Said I needed to run a dangerous experiment.”

Steve turned, taking in the tight and so much older face of his friend, unsure of what to say. Howard shoved his hands in his pockets but just continued. “I mean, I wasn’t exactly sure you’d come back, or if Jarvis had ever really seen you in the first place, but here you are, putting back something you stole from me. Without even a hello?” Howard laughed darkly, pointing at his suit. “You get tired of the red white and blue, or are you serving another nation now?”

Steve pressed his hands to his own chest, his head falling down and his eyes squeezing tight. “It’s a long, complicated story, Howard. And I don’t know how much I can really say.”

Howard shook his head, disappointed. “Can you tell me who that man was with you? The one who couldn’t even remember his own name?”

Steve couldn’t look at him, pain coursing through him at the loss of his friend. “No.”

Howard waited until Steve looked at him, cutting him close with the hurt in his voice, “Can you tell me why you never told me you were alive?”

Steve nodded. “That much I do owe you.”

Howard bobbed his head, really taking in the appearance of his friend for the first time. His eyes went wide as he looked at Steve and found the things he tried to not see before: the new lines along his eyes, the tightness of his jaw, the way the lines around his mouth had deepened that all signaled not only was this not a social call, but the man was not all that well. “Ok, well, I’ve got a bottle of scotch in my desk, that’ll have to suffice for me.” He tipped his head, “Let’s go.”

The hallways were deserted, and Steve lingered his eyes just a second too long on Peggy’s door, which had only blackness behind it.

Howard noticed. “I sent her home, too. She doesn’t know why and I’ll catch hell for it tomorrow.”

Steve didn’t know what to say to that, so he said nothing. A few more steps and they were settled in Howards office, Steve on the almost comfortable chair across from Howard as he sat behind his desk, pouring out two tumblers of scotch. “So, can you tell me how I managed to look for you for years and here you are, waltzing into my facility and stealing the tesseract?” He lifted the glass to his lips, taking a hearty gulp. “Though, since you were putting it back, I guess you were just borrowing.”

Steve took the other tumbler from the table, holding it in his hands but not drinking. “I’m honestly not sure what I can or can’t say that doesn’t risk changing things.” Steve stopped, took a deep breath, and leaned forward. “But what the hell, right? If anyone’s going to understand this… will understand how important it is, it’s you, right?”

Howard shrugged, leaning back in his chair, a hint of a smile playing at his lips. “There’s a good chance I’m your guy.”

Steve took a second, eyes lost in the whiskey. It wouldn’t do anything, but the idea of it somehow gave him courage all the more. He drank it like a shot, swallowing and putting his glass on the desk. “I’m not even sure where to start.”

Howard set his elbows on the desk, leaning over it, intensely curious. “How about at the beginning… How did you walk away from that plane crash? We looked for you for-“

“I didn’t,” Steve interrupted, solemn. “I spent almost 70 years in the ice.”

Howard sat up straight. “But you’re…”

Steve couldn’t decide if he wanted to laugh or cry. “I told you it was a long story.”

“That’s why you’re worried about changing things.” He leaned forward, hands in fists. “You managed to time travel?” Howard shook his head, his eyes glazing over as he thought. “Is that like a… normal thing in the future?”

“No,” Steve replied right away. “It was a last desperate attempt to…” he took a deep breath. “A lot of people had died, half of…” He took another breath, not really sure how to explain it all. “It was more than just our world at stake.”

Howard pushed back, eyes wide. “Other…planets?”

Steve smiled and nodded. “Yeah. The future was… interesting.”

Howard reached over and lifted the bottle of scotch, the liquid only half filling it. “We might need more than this…”

Steve laughed, really laughed, for the first time in months. “For this story? Yeah.”

~*~

An hour later Howard was pacing the length of his office, sleeves rolled up, hair tousled from running his hands through it, and half a tumbler of whiskey in his hand. “You weren’t kidding.”

“No. It’s complicated.”

“Complicated?” Howard laughed and leaned back against his desk. “It’s a fucking mess is what it is.” Howard turned and put both hands on his desk. “I can’t believe it actually fucking worked.”

Steve felt guilty. He hadn’t mentioned Pym, not knowing exactly how the two were relating at the moment. He hadn’t named Tony, either, just called him ‘an inventor’ and later Iron Man and gave no indication to his friend that his son would end up dying to save humanity. But there were some things he wasn’t ready to risk ruining, some things he couldn’t quite yet face. “That’s… not the worst part.”

Howard turned his head, his eyebrows at his hairline as he looked at his friend. “There’s more?”

Steve looked at his folded hands, feeling guilty. “I want to stay.”

“Is that inherently a problem?” Howard searched his face, hoping for some hint. “You are, technically, more from this time than you are that one.”

“I… don’t know.” He sighed. “I was hoping you would.”

Howard sank in his chair, kicking his feet up on the desk. “Like, if you stay, you become your own grandfather or something like that?”

“Well… not quite, but yeah.” Steve’s teeth were set on edge. Of all the people he knew, of all the people he’d asked about this, Howard would be the one to give it to him straight.

Howard tented his fingers, eyes un-focusing as he thought about the problem.

The phone rang and Howard ignored it, looking at his friend. After five shrill rings he lifted the receiver and slammed it back down, silencing it. “What did… what did the scientists who were helping you say about—” He was cut off again as the phone rang once more.  With a sigh Howard put it on speaker. “Hello?”

Jarvis’ anxious voice filled the room, startling Steve. “I’m sorry sir, but I couldn’t stop her without risking serious bodily harm.”

Howard’s face soured, “Stop who?”

The door behind Steve crashed open. “Howard you bloody wanker this is absolutely ridiculous. You ship me off for no reason when I have serious work to do. You’re not even doing an experiment are you? No, you’re drinking and—"

It was when she looked down that she got her first glimpse of him, and it ripped the words from her mouth.

He stood, slowly, and tried to smile, even though he could feel his heart beating hard in his chest. “Hi, Peg.”

Her breath caught and her mouth opened and closed for a moment before the only thing she could think to say fell from her lips. “You’re late.”

~*~

End Notes: To keep track, here are the five times: 1. Wanda 2. Pym/Bruce (Yes, they count as one, sue me) 3. The Ancient One 4. Loki 5. Howard. And the one time he didn’t was Red Skull. I don’t write this trope that often, so… yeah.

This was all written LONG before Loki came out. Just in light of all the silliness going around I felt like I needed to post, and hopefully some of you needed to read it.

Let’s keep fandom happy and enjoyable, friends.

[knives-out20]

Magnetic Pull - Erik Lehnsherr x Male!OC - Part 13

Fandom: X-Men: First Class (2011)

Pairing: Karmel Rosenstein (OC) x Erik Lehnsherr

Warnings: Spoilers for X-Men: First Class, Swearing, Repressed homosexuality,

Notes: Three rich scenes for the price of one!

Erik, Karmel, Raven, and Alex hung out of a window of the X-Mansion, Charles and Hank fixing wings onto Sean's outfit in the next room.

"And you're sure that this will work?" Sean asked.

"Anything is possible. I based the design-"

"Hank, stop talking. Come on" Charles cut Hank off, patting Sean and leading them over to the window.

Karmel gulped, the close contact with Erik not quite bothering him anymore, as it did pleasure him now. He liked it. Karmel flipped a hand up like he flipped an invisible light switch, vines growing out the ground under Sean's window. He watched the vines loop and intertwine into each other, forming a net.

"Did Charles tell you to do that?" He heard Erik ask. Erik saw Karmel's sleeve fall back, revealing the leather bracelet he gifted him."You kept the bracelet."

Karmel shook his head."Nah- figured a vine net would be a better landing than the actual grass itself" he turned to Erik, shrugging innocently."Also, uh, yea- I really, really like it, Erik. Shit goes with everything I own."

Erik breathed a smile onto his lips, clasping his hands together."Awful thoughtful of you."

Karmel smiled shyly."I guess" he mumbled, looking back over towards the window.

"Now, remember Sean, scream as hard as you can" Charles reminded, as Hank and him held Sean on the window sill."If all goes wrong, that net- that I'm assuming Karmel crafted- will catch you."

"You need the sound waves to be supersonic. Catch them at the right angle, and they should carry you" Hank added.

"'They should carry me'" Sean softly repeated, in a mocking tone."That's reassuring."

"Good luck" Charles whispered, Hank and him pulling out from the window."And don't forget to scream."

Karmel shifted slightly against Erik, mind running every time he was anywhere near him. He noticed Sean eyeing the vine net."What, you want some flowers on it?" Karmel teased, Alex cackling above him.

Erik exhaled through his nose, holding back from actually laughing.

Sean rolled his eyes, stretching his arms out to spread the wings on his hoodie. He leaned forward, screaming loudly as he fell out the window and onto the net.

Karmel laughed, slapping his hand over his mouth to muffle it; he noticed Erik do the same, the two sharing a moment of sweet, sweet 'me too' eye contact.

Alex chuckled as he looked down at Sean, while Hank and Charles put their hands on the window sill and looked down a the net.

"Thanks for the net" Sean weakly called up.

"N-No problem" Karmel called, muffled through his fist.

***

Karmel lay back in an empty room of the mansion, on a fancy barbell seat. He grunted softly, pushing it up and down at his own speed. Exercise always helped Karmel get his mind off other things and focus on one thing (exercising), and Erik- moreover, how he felt about Erik- was something he's trying to push away for a while. Sure, he accepted it, but he didn't want it to cloud his mind and distract him from their mission. Karmel gasped when the metal barbell flew up and out of his hands, so he turned to the entrance of the room.

Erik stood there, a finger pointed upwards as he controlled the barbell. He locked eyes with Karmel, not knowing truly how much of an effect his eyes, or he himself, had on the dirty-blond-haired mutant. 

"Erik." Karmel greeted, clearing his throat. He noticed Erik had changed into a dark tee, tucked into khaki pants. Erik's exposed neck sent Karmel internally reeling like a repressed Victorian maiden. He felt his face heat up almost instantly.

"If you're using half your concentration to look normal, then you're only half paying attention to whatever else you're doing" Erik informed.

Karmel raised an eyebrow, resting on his elbows.

"I'm not blind to the actions and faces of someone who isn't acting like themselves, or hiding pieces of themselves that they fear people won't accept" Erik softly shook his head."It's been exceptionally clear to me that you've been hiding something."

Karmel feared for the worst."Erik, I-"

Erik raised a hand, silencing Karmel immediately."Charles told me you've got something hidden away in your mind, something he didn't bother telling me because that's the extent of him reading minds, and sharing secrets."

And a wave of relief washed over Karmel like a flood.

Erik walked over to Karmel, looking down at him with those piercing eyes of his. He glanced at the leather bracelet, holding himself back from cupping Karmel’s cheek, or touching him at all."Whatever's been bothering you, I just hope it won't fog up your mind entirely, or get in the way of us finding Shaw and destroying him. I just hope whatever it is...you accept it soon enough" Erik looked up at the barbell, which slowly fell down instead of racing down like something of its weight normally would.

Karmel's vines shot out from his sides, catching it in time.

"You want society to accept you, but you can't even accept yourself" Erik purred- with a tone that could only be defined as the fine line between concern and pity. He smoothly turned around, walking out the room.”I hope you know I could, Karmel. I would accept you.”

Karmel watched Erik as he left, partially unashamed to say he was mainly looking at Erik's ass.

So, Charles hid Karmel's repressed attraction towards men and masked it by saying 'repressed emotions', huh?

Karmel will have to thank Charles for making that believable enough. He set the barbell back on its stand, panting softly as he then draped an arm over his eyes."Fuck me" Karmel whispered, out of the sexual excitement looking at Erik's lower half brought him, and also out of relief that Erik wasn't aware of Karmel's feelings for him. He lifted his arms, narrowing his eyes on the bracelet on his wrist. Karmel brought his wrist down to his lips, softly planting a kiss on the metal clasp."I love you, Erik." He breathed, reassuring himself that these feelings were normal, natural, and most importantly, okay. Karmel will have to get used to them quickly, like Erik unknowingly said.

***

Charles, Erik, Hank, Karmel, and Sean stood on a platform at the top of a big satellite dish not that far off from the mansion, ready for another try at Sean's powers.

"And you truly believe I'll fly this time?" Sean asked Charles, looking down from how high up they were.

Erik and Karmel crossed their arms in unison, not on purpose. They glanced at each other and giggled softly.

"Unreservedly" Charles declared.

"Charlie Chaplin pullin' out the big-boy words as if they're more reassuring, huh?" Karmel teased, smiling proudly when Erik grinned back a laugh.

"I trust you" Sean ignored Karmel, tapping Charles' hand.

"I'm touched" Charles replied.

"I don't trust him-" Sean gestured at Hank, who frowned.

"Say nothing" Charles whispered to Hank.

Sean inhaled slowly, growing anxious."I'm going to die! Not even a net this time?" He asked Karmel.

Erik turned away, only growing bored.

"No net this time. You got this for sure" Karmel nodded.

"Alright, look, we're not going to make you do anything you don't feel like-" Charles wasn't able to finish his sentence.

"Here, let me help" Erik cut in, pushing Sean off the platform and into the wind.

"OH F-" Sean cut himself off with a small scream, Charles yelling "Erik!" and looking down, over at Sean.

Karmel threw his head back laughing, stepping away and grabbing onto a railing behind Erik. His lips cracked into a wide grin, ribs shaking with laughter as he knelt down, unable to stand up straight anymore.

Erik turned around to look down at Karmel, now being his turn to smile proudly at making Karmel laugh. He felt this warm, fuzzy feeling in his chest because of the accomplishment, but decided to dwell on it later. Erik outstretched a hand down to Karmel, who slowly looked up at Erik squinted eyes.

"My s-sides hurt-" Karmel wheezed, sniffing and taking Erik's hand, who pulled him up. He automatically leaned his arm onto Erik's shoulder for support, his arm slipping and getting replaced by his forehead. Karmel's laughter died down to giggles, as he closed his eyes.

Sean spread his arms once he reached the bottom of the dish, screaming his powers into existence in order to keep himself afloat.

Erik put his hand on his hip, following Hank's and Charles' gaze as Sean flew up and into the air. 

Sean laughed, letting out a long 'woo' as he glided downwards.

Erik, Charles and Hank watched him zip by, Karmel too occupied with his laughing fit and pained sides to pay attention.

Charles grinned a little, turning to stare at Erik.

"What?" Erik asked innocently, desperately trying to keep his mind off of how cute Karmel's laughing was."You know you were thinking the same" he dared, gesturing at Charles with one hand.

Charles put his hands on his hips, quickly glancing down at Karmel.

Erik turned his head down to Karmel's head on his shoulder, the soft giggling like music to his ears.

[yanderedbh-moved]

A lil sampling

I genuinely have no idea if I would ever get around to finishing this or even if anyone would really care, but... This is just a very brief plot synopsis for a smut themed two-chapter fic I’ve been toying with since around December of last year. Since it’s NSFW themed, it’s linked below the cut.

Try to think of this story as less so one complete narrative, but rather one common starting point, with several possible endings, depending on which character’s chapter you decide to pursue.

The story is set in my demon AU, (something which I’ve elaborated on my old blog which was unfortunately terminated.) But in short, all the DBH characters are demons in this universe, each representing different sins, dwelling in various levels of hell, determined by the severity of their vice. At the beginning of the story, you are awakening after you were out late one night after a concert. The last thing you remember was trying to find your way home while all alone in the darkness. It was unsafe for sure, but you had no idea the full extent of it. You notice some a group of people in the distance where you were walking, but remember them from the concert, and think it’s safe to cross their path. The details of what happened next were blurry, but what you do remember was the way the group was muttering in a language you couldn’t understand as you passed, or instead tried to pass. You thought you were at a safe distance, however, the group, seemingly acting as one entity, attacked you, overwhelming you, rendering you unconscious.

As you begin to regain your senses, you realize you’re situation is far worse than you initially thought as you’re bound with corse ropes to a stone table, an altar, in what appears to be a church. 

The moment you are able, you’re making your best effort to escape the binds, begging the people to let you go, screaming for any answer. This does little good for you, unfortunately, though, as you can hardly get a comprehensible answer from any of them. What you do understand is this. You’ve been taken hostage by a group of Satanists intending to sacrifice you to their deity in return for his wisdom. Your escape attempts become all the more frantic. However, you’re too late, and in a matter of minutes, the ritual has begun.

You’re crying and begging to be let go but are silenced the moment you detect another presence has entered the church. Namely, something has arisen from the pit where they prepared a space to welcome their god. Any initial thoughts this was all some sick joke are crushed the moment you accept your fate as the sick cult’s virgin sacrifice. 

Fate has more for you in-store however as the monster takes an interest in the Satanists, rather than you and when they fail to calculate the real strength of the being they claimed to worship as he lays waste to the members, leaving little more than their gore in the wake of his wrath. You expected him to do the same to you, however as he approaches, he hesitates a moment, and before he can officially seal your fate, he offers you a deal. If you want to be spared, you must become his disciple, you must devote yourself to satanism. Your first answer is a hard no, and expect to be killed with equal wrath as he disposed of the Satanists, but he actually lets you go. However, this doesn't mean he's done with you yet.

(The following chapters would include how the respective demons would go about seducing a once holy, religious individual into their own personal oracle.) Connor, out of all, would take a unique approach as he’s not quite seducing you, so much as showing you the full power and beauty of his sin. (While absolutely making sure you to leave you breathless along the way.) Connor represents the sin of treachery. Despite the negative reputation of the sin, there is still an allure to be found for sure. The absolute freedom in abandoning all prior reservations and pursuing what you really desire? Perhaps the cost of abandoning your old life may seem too high a price to pay, but Connor is determined to change your mind. He’s much more dominant than one might think while remaining soft-spoken enough to avoid becoming too suspicious. “It’s good to expand your horizons, and I’m only looking out for you here.” Wouldn’t so much dominate interactions and force you to think a certain way, but rather, asks questions that leave you leaning away from what you’ve known before, and drawing you closer to the unknown. Everything eventually culminating in an evening in his personal quarters where he shares drinks with you, and for the first time openly bringing up the discussion on the way sex and sexuality are so stigmatized, before asking you how you feel on the matter. As the conversation estates, he comes on stronger and stronger until you’re unable to deny him a moment longer.

Cain would likely use a very “by the book” way of temptation. He represents the vice of revenge, a profoundly polarizing topic for most. Even if your overall thoughts on revenge were complicated, you couldn't deny the pleasure which is found in enacting justice on those who've wronged you. Probably he would invite you over to an exclusive one-on-one sermon of his and would show you everything you were missing out on. The sex scene should play out exactly so, as ritualistic and traditional as it is sensual and alluring. (Possible added kinks might include pouring hot wax, being tied down, light blood play, and maybe drug use (a sedative or hallucinogen) but nothing too heavy.) Cain is probably holding himself back a little here because he knows if you get too scared, then you’ll run. 

Nines is nothing if not patient and a schemer, so he would need far more time than the others to fully seduce you, likely would start by offering you small tempting gifts (wine, rich foods, little beautiful things) which would escalate and climax in agreeing to go on a dinner date with him. As a demon, Nines personifies bad omens. His mission was simple, get into your head and convince you to lower your defenses around him and allow his foreboding charm to draw you in. On the date, when he feels as though you are really wrapped around his finger, he would start teasing you publicly under the table before you cave and agree to leave early with him. Heavy teasing here as now Nines wouldn’t be afraid to call you out on your shameless behavior and make you feel all the more guilty for embracing such a sinful life. (While knowing he's entirely the one causing you to act this way of course.)

Hank, as the only fallen angel, would have a much different way of looking at how to seduce you compared to the others. While at once, he was a proud guardian angel, tragedy and time have corroded away at him, leaving in him as the demon of apathy. Unlike others who would try to get you to change your morality, Hank is more interested in convincing you to fall away from what you once cared about, and allowing him to possess your heart. Give up on all you once held dear so long as it doesn't pertain to him. Wouldn’t tell or praise you for breaking down and giving in to temptations and sinful urges, he would affirm that you weren’t immoral, and there’s nothing wrong with acting on impulses like this. A small part of him would even genuinely feel sorry to see you so torn up, but that only encourages him to steer you in the “right” direction. He would inspire you with touches which aren’t necessarily “sinful” (a hand on your shoulder, arm, back, etc. reaches to touch your hands when speaking, that sort of thing.) Praises you by saying things like, “you’re doing so well for daddy” The final straw arrives when you walk in on him masturbating, and can’t bring yourself to leave or look away. He would beacon you closer and would show you how to indulge yourself as well as him. Proves he can give oral as well as he can take, and puts the last of your anxieties on the matter to rest with eager enthusiasm. (As part of the cool down, he would likely confide in you the story of his own fall from grace, though it's up to you to decide whether he's lying or not.)

[letgraysonsheart]

remember that post i made about having to whump dick myself? well here ya go though this is more angst than whump, add-on for Titans s2ep5! thanks to @liathgray for helping me so much with this, you’re amazing

tw: suicidal thoughts

-

Jason’s falling. He’s falling, slipping through Dick’s fingers and flying towards the ground with increasing speed. Dick’s yelling, even though he doesn’t know what exactly. And Jason is screaming, and his face, Jason’s face - he’s terrified.

Dick was supposed to save him.

He feels like he’s not in his body anymore. Frozen in place. Cold all over.

Jason pummels to the ground.

“Dick-” there’s a hand on his shoulder, dragging him away from the window, from the view of Jason’s desperate face. He doesn’t get to see Jason hit the ground. The world around him has become muffled. It’s like he’s underwater where there are no sounds besides the piercing ringing in his ear.

There’s an utter agony spreading through his body, and not just from the heartbreak he lived only seconds ago.

He can’t stop seeing Jason’s face. But now, there’s a sandy floor under him, not a concrete ground. The sound of a circus tent moving with the wind is filling his ears. The yells. The screams.

“Dick, come back to me, look at me,” Kory, sounding more frantic than ever, says. Dick opens his eyes, when did he close them? His vision is swimming, both from the pain that makes it feel like there’s fire eating away at his body, and the tears he can’t force away. It hurts to breathe.

It hurts to live.

Jason is dead.

“You’re bleeding,” Kory states, brows furrowed. Dick looks down, his hand feeling along to find the epicenter of his pain. There’s a bullet wound there, blood oozing out of it. He shouldn’t even be standing, how had he been able to run to Jason? How had been able to hold on to Jason, for that small window of time, before Jason slipped from his hand?

Maybe that’s the reason he couldn’t hold on. He managed to get shot, it drained his strength, and Jason slipped. Jason fell. Jason died.

It’s his fault. Like it always seems to be these days.

His knees buckle. Kory’s there, grabbing him before he faceplants.

“Oh, oh god - Dick,” she says, “I didn’t see you get hit,” there’s a hand in his hair, trying to comfort him. He doesn’t understand how she can care about him now, about the hole in his abdomen matching the hole where his heart used to be, when Jason’s gone.

Much like how the skin around his wound must be shredded, so is his heart.

Jason fell.

Dick deserves this pain.

But maybe this is it. The moment when he’s finally freed. He was already ready for it, for it all to be over, when he tricked the other Titans so he could go sacrifice himself. He was so sure that Deathstroke wouldn’t be able to resist the chance to bring revenge down on them, on him. He thought Deathstroke wouldn’t be able to say no to the opportunity of killing him in the cleanest most dramatic way.

But apparently, he isn’t even worth that. Even his death isn’t a big enough price to pay for all the hurt he’s caused.

“Dick, shh,” Kory says, and Dick didn’t even know he was speaking. What was he saying? Tears are glistering in Kory’s eyes when he looks up at her, and it makes them look so blank, like glass. He’s laying in her arms, he realizes, and he doesn’t remember how he got from sitting on his knees on the floor to laying there. He can feel the warmth of her body, so different from the cold that is spreading through his own.

“J-Jason,” he stutters out, “he fell.”

Kory’s eyes soften, he didn’t think she was able to look more beautiful and yet there she is. Her hand continues combing through his hair, in an almost frantic but still soft motion. The ringing in his ears has lessened, but that only means he can hear how ragged his breathing sounds as he struggles through the pain.

“It wasn’t your fault,” she says. It’s a lie, but Dick can’t make himself call her out on it. He’s dying, and he doesn’t want his last words to Kory be an argument.

“Just try to stay calm,” she continues, and Dick doesn’t know if there’s any way for him to stay calm at all. Jason’s dead. He’s failed, yet again. Just like Bruce - Oh, oh god. Bruce. How will Bruce come back from this? What will Bruce say, what will he think?

He’s dying in vain, Dick realizes. He couldn’t even finish his last quest. Couldn’t even redeem himself before dying. Couldn’t save anyone. All he wanted was to save Jason, and even that he couldn’t manage to do.

At least he won’t be there to see it when Bruce gets the news.

At least he’ll see Jason soon, and his parents too.

“-Ik? Dick?” Kory brings him out of his thoughts, she might have said something before, he doesn’t know. “Open your eyes again, please, please just hold on,” she begs. He forces his eyelids open, and Kory smiles watery at him.

“I’- I’-” he tries to talk but the words get caught in his throat. It hurts too much. Everything. His heart, his mind, the bullet wound in his gut where all his blood is leaving his body. He wants it to end now. He’s sick of all this pain.

“Shh,” Kory whispers and places a hand on his cheek, “you don’t need to talk. Just keep on breathing.”

He doesn’t know how to make her understand that he doesn’t want too. That he wants to let go now. There is no coming back from this. He can’t live with having killed Jason, someone who’s supposed to be his brother. The biggest responsibility Bruce has ever laid on his shoulders, and he’s messed it up beyond saving.

“Oh god- Dick,” someone says. It’s not Kory, her lips don’t move, and the sound of it is too deep for it to be her. There’s another set of gentle hands touching him now, someone has sat down on the other side of him, opposite Kory. It takes so much energy, but he manages to move his eyes from where they’ve been resting at the redness of Kory’s hair to the newly arrived face.

It’s Hank. Hank, with eyes full of emotion and face full of anger.

He can’t take this, can’t take more of Hank’s disappointment. He had hoped he could escape before any of the other Titans arrived.

“Jason-” Kory starts, and her voice cracks, and it feels like someone’s taking a sledgehammer at Dick’s already broken heart.

There’s more pressure at his wound, and Dick can’t help but scream. His throat feels raw when his voice gives out, and he can’t help the whimper that escapes from his lips.

“He’s - he’s alive, you - Donna said it over the coms, you didn’t hear?” Hank is saying, but the words make no sense in Dick’s brain. It’s like he’s shortcutted.

Alive?

“My com - I think Deathstroke messed up the frequency, my com stopped working once I got up here,” Kory says, voice sounding more distant, “But Jason - how?”

Jason. He needs to know before he goes. He forces himself to listen, to try to calm his breaths. There’s something cold on his stomach, over his wound, and he bites so hard onto his lower lip from the pain that it splits and starts bleeding. He has to hold on long enough to hear about Jason.

“There - some guy came swooping in, from nowhere. I thought it was Supes’ at first, but it wasn’t. Donna and Dawn are with them, they ordered me up here, and thank god they did,” Hank rambles, his voice shaky.

“You stupid idiot,” he says then, and Dick realizes Hank is talking to him, angry at him. Not that he doesn’t deserve it.

But Jason’s alive.

No thanks to Dick. But still, Jason’s alive. Maybe Bruce won’t be as mad. Maybe Bruce will be okay. Perhaps the Titans can forgive him, or at least not be as mad at him as they would be if he lost Robin for good.

Dick feels his eyes slip shut. He’s so tired. The pain is lessening, his body feels colder than before, even when held in Kory’s warm embrace.

“Oh no, you don’t!” Hank yells, and a sudden hard pressure at his bullet wound forces another scream from him, his eyes snapping open. “You don’t get to do this,” Hank raves at him, face swimming over Dick’s. It’s hard to see, his vision tunneling.

Dick thinks he loses some time after that, maybe only a few seconds, because suddenly it feels like his stomach is forced into his throat and his head is swimming - he’s in the air.

Is he falling? Oh god - no, no he can’t be -

His eyes open and he can’t remember having closed them, just like he hasn’t remembered closing them all the other times tonight. He’s in someone’s arms, being carried, he realizes. He’s not falling, not now, at least. Fierce red hair swims into his vision.

“Hold on, okay?” Hank says, from somewhere to the side. He can’t stop his head from lolling as Kory walks, almost runs, and it makes his vision move too fast to focus on anything. His limbs dangle uselessly too, his arm brushing against the soft fabric of Kory’s clothes.

It’s so cold. Why didn’t he wear anything more than a t-shirt? He didn’t think death would feel this cold.

He’s so tired. Everything hurts too much.

He wants it to stop.

“Don’t say that,” Hank says, and Dick doesn’t even know what it is he’s said out loud and what’s only been in his thoughts.

There’s a too loud sound. It hurts his ears and he wants to turn away from it, but there’s no energy in his body and Kory is holding onto him so hard. He knows he’s shaking, some of the pain is still there, and he’s still cold - growing colder. There’s wind hitting his face and the sound isn’t ever stopping-

“Get him into the helicopter!”

Bruce. That’s Bruce’s voice. Oh god, no. No. He can’t face Bruce now.

He can’t breathe. His throat feels blocked, and he panics, the broken pieces of his heart beating wildly in his chest. Now, even when he tries to force his eyes to keep being open, the darkness he so wanted before comes for him.

There’s still so much sound, too loud for his hurting ears, but not the same as the loud mechanical noise of the helicopter. There are voices. Yelling, perhaps, he doesn’t know. He doesn’t care.

Dick wants to sleep, he wants to escape this hell he’s fallen into while trying so hard to fix everything. He can’t take this anymore, not right now.

So he gives up, and welcomes the darkness.

-

He opens his eyes only to see darkness again. But not to the same absolute dark he had seen before. There’s a small glow in the room he’s in, the light from the city outside trying to force its way past the curtains blocking the window.

The bed he’s in is soft, the blanket covering him warm. His skin itches from where he got shot and the area of skin around where there’s a needle stuck in him and connected to an IV looks red and annoyed too.

His throat feels so dry, like sandpaper.

And, he squints, someone’s sitting in a chair by his bedside, but he can’t see who. A broad frame, a masculine one, and short hair.

Using more energy than he wants to admit, he manages to push the oxygen mask placed over his face off and tries to speak. What comes out is a pathetic scratchy sound, not sounding like any kind of word. It sends him into a coughing fit that pulls at the wound in his stomach and brings big fat tears to his eyes.

“What? Oh, oh! shit, shit!” he must have awoken the person sat in the chair. And that voice. He remembers it from right before it all went dark. Hank. Hank’s here. Hank’s the person in the chair.

There’s a straw pushed at his cracked lips, into his mouth, and he sips desperately. He’s still sat hunched over from all the coughing and the cold water is a blessing for his aching throat.

“Easy there, bird brain,” Hank says, and Dick recognizes the try for humor but it’s kind of useless when Hank’s voice sounds wobbling and unsure.

Much too soon the water is snatched from his lips, some drops escape the straw and hit the warm skin on his hand as the glass is moved away. He hears the sound of the glass hitting the tabletop of the nightstand beside his bed, a low clunk. Someone, Hank, it has to still be Hank, eases him back into place in the bed.

“Of course you wake up now,” Hank huffs, and Dick flinches at the tone of his voice, can’t help it. God, he must be on some strong pain medication. “They said it could still be days, but no, of course, you were never one to stay still for long,” Hank continues. Rambles. Its something he always used to do before, whenever he was nervous. Lash out with words, keep on talking. Dick always suspected it was to keep the darker thoughts away. They’ve always been similar in that way.

“You okay?” Dick asks because it’s obvious Hank is struggling. Dick doesn’t even understand why the former Titan is there, by his bedside, in what has to be the middle of the night. Thankfully his voice works now, even though it’s still raspy from being unused and the coughing.

Something dark drifts over Hank’s face. The little light they have in the room magnifies the shadows on the older man’s face, and if Dick’s body wasn’t so damn heavy he would kick himself. He keeps messing up, doesn’t he? Saying the wrong things, never managing to be the good leader he used to think he could be.

“Am I okay?” Hank says, voice dripping with something Dick can’t pinpoint. “You almost died, in Kory’s arms, after trying to fucking sacrifice yourself, and you ask if I’m okay?” Hank’s voice grows in volume as he talks, words coming faster and harsher, and Dick’s worried that there’s a bomb about to drop on his head.

Instead, Hank surprises him by growing quiet again and taking in a sharp wet breath. It almost sounds like Hank is about to cry. And God no - Dick isn't prepared to handle that, he can’t handle that. He doesn’t know what to say nor how to comfort the older man. It used to be easier, before. Before there was a huge wall of pain and hurt between them. Before, when they used to be like brothers.

“When did you get this - this death wish?” Hank says through gritted teeth, and Dick wishes he could’ve been like a normal person and slept the estimated time. He doesn’t want to talk about this, everything he felt in that building, it’s still too raw. He hasn’t had the time to think about it or figure out what to say to calm his friends down. He has no idea how to explain it, or if there even is a way to do so.

“You didn’t use to, before, when we started. You didn’t..” Hank’s voice trails off like he can’t bring himself to say it, “You were a self-sacrificing dumbass back then too, but not… not to this extent. Not as I remember it, at least.”

“I’m too tired to talk about this, Hank,” Dick replies because it’s the truth. And also he doesn’t want to talk about this. He never does. He wants to move on, or at the very least, get some more sleep.

“Too bad. You decided to wake up while I’m on watch, and the last thing you said to me before going under was that you wanted it all to stop,” Hank says, voice forceful as he moves closer to Dick.

“I was almost out of it, Hank, you can’t take that seriously,” Dick argues. He sees how Hank’s face hardens for a second like he’s about to burst out in anger, throw his chair at the wall and storm out. But, for the second time since he woke up, Hank surprises him. Instead of the expected anger, Hank’s face softens again, the corner of his lips turning downwards.

“You were prepared to die. Even before that bullet hit you, you wanted Deathstroke to kill you if it meant Jason and Rose could go free. You had accepted it, Dick, for fuck’s sake!” Hank says, his voice is lower than before but still full of emotions.

Dick doesn’t answer.

“You should’ve told us, or trusted us enough to come up with a plan that didn’t evolve you killing yourself,” the older hisses. Dick drags his arms around himself. The aching in his gut is becoming more prominent. The emotions filling up his throat makes it hard to breathe and prevents him from making even a single sound.

“Jason?” Dick manages to force through his lips after a few seconds. Just the name makes his chest throb with a whole different kind of pain.

Hank shakes his head at the obvious change of topic but still answers.

“He’ll be okay. He’s traumatized, who wouldn’t be? But his injuries weren’t too serious, he’s sleeping now,” Hank explains, “It didn’t help that he saw you get shot though, and that you didn’t seem to care as you dove after him.“ Hank takes a deep breath before he continues his rant, "Nor did it help that he right after being saved got told you were a hairbreadth from dying. Didn’t exactly calm him down.”

God. Fuck. Dick’s so thankful, more than he’s ever been for anything else, that Jason’s alive. That he’ll be okay. Still, it hurts to hear how much distress Dick’s put on the kid. Especially when all he wanted to do was save him, and not traumatize him even more.

“Bruce showed up in the helicopter, saved your ass, I don’t know if you remember. It did wonders for the kid to see him when we got back here, even if the little asshat tried not to let it show,” Hank says while studying him.

Bruce. Shit. Dick will have to face Bruce now, explain what happened. How he’d scarred Robin, more than Batman had ever managed to. Dick would have to tell him exactly how he’d gotten the new Robin almost killed. He and Bruce, they’d just started getting better. Started working past everything that’s happened, and mending their fried relationship. And now…

“How could you not realize you’d gotten shot? Like, I know you’re good at pushing away your pain, but an actual gunshot wound?” Hank asks, sounding a little curious on top of the anger.

“Jason fell,” Dick replies then, refusing to meet Hank’s eyes.

Looking dumbfounded, Hank leans forward, his brows furrowed in confusion.

“What does that have to do with anything?” He asks incredulously, and Dick can feel how Hank is watching him, it prickles on his skin.

“He fell,” Dick repeats, finally turning to meet the older man’s eyes. He can see the gears turning in Hank’s head until finally - click.

“Oh,” Hank slumps back into his chair, realization coloring his features, a hand scrubbing over his face. “Shit. Shit, Dick. I’m sorry. That must’ve… Sorry. I just-” Hank cuts himself off, and now it’s him that’s looks away, refusing to meet Dick’s gaze.

An uncomfortable silence falls over them. It makes Dick want to run out of the room, lock himself in somewhere and never come out. The increasing pain from his wound stops him from moving at all. He doubts he would even get in two steps before collapsing to the floor.

“You can’t help yourself, can you?” Hank asks, breaking the silence and grabbing Dick’s attention again. Dick sends him a puzzled look. Even if the meds seems to be wearing off, they’re still affecting him. It’s making his brain slower and his emotions more open. He can’t read people, Hank, as easy as he usually does. He hates it.

Being on pain medication has always lessened his ability to keep his words to himself, to keep his emotions secret. This time seems to be no exception.

“Help what?” he asks, between two deep breaths he takes in a try to keep the pain further away.

“The guilt. Blaming yourself for every little thing that’s happened,” Hank states, looking at him in a way that Dick hates. Full of pity, like Dick is a mystery that suddenly makes too much sense. Hank isn’t talking about just recent events anymore, no, this goes even deeper.

“It’s not like I’m blameless,” Dick replies, already regretting opening his mouth but still continuing, “You’ve been pretty open yourself about how much I’ve messed up.” He can’t hide the bite in his voice, can’t help the bitterness he lets slip through. Hank had once been his big brother, and they might have fought, but it still hurts when Hank flinches back at Dick’s words.

Another point on the “how much can Dick Grayson hurt his friends” scale.

“That doesn’t mean I want to see you die!” Hank is up from his chair now, yelling, looming over Dick.

Dick flinches at the sudden movement. It makes him jump a little in his bed and then there’s so much pain, spreading from his wound. He can barely contain the scream that wants to burst out of him. Curling up around his stomach, into a ball, he gets over on his side and god, god it hurts.

“Shit, Dick,” Hank says, and he hears the man fumbling around, kicking something - the chair, maybe. Then there’s something cold, spreading out from his arm, from the IV that by some miracle is still in place even after all the motion.

There’s a big calloused hand on his bare arm, squeezing softly, as Dick tries to breathe through the pain, waiting for the medication to settle in.

“You should’ve told me you were in pain,” Hank says, voice void of any emotion. Dick stares at the wall, still feeling the pain pulsing from his wound, not able to talk again yet. He doesn’t think he’s pulled any stitches, there doesn’t seem to be any wetness spreading. There’s only the horrible thought-consuming pain filling him.

“I’m sorry,” he says through his gritted teeth. It sounds more like a sob, but he can’t bring himself to care. Everything, not just the bullet wound, - it hurts so much.

“Don’t say that,” Hank answers, barely above a whisper, as he makes Dick turn to lay down on his back again. Dick forces himself to stretch out from the ball he’s tucked himself into as he moves. He waits for the pain to paralyze him again and finds himself thankful when he discovers the meds have already started lulling it.

“I’m tired,” Dick states, staring up at the white roof above him.

There’s a hand, hovering just above his own for a second. It accidentally touches parts of his hot skin, before it commits and grabs it. It’s a little awkward at first, the huge palm fitting over his smaller one, but it then settles, warm and comforting.

The higher amount of drugs pumping into him is making him more sleepy. He’s teetering on the verge of unconsciousness. He tries to stay awake, for Hank, because he’s caused so much hurt and fixed nothing.

“Relax, Dick, go to sleep,” Hank says like he’s reading Dick’s thoughts. He sounds as tired as Dick feels, and Dick’s eyes are already slipping shut. “Jason’s okay, we’re all as okay as can be,” Hank reassures. “I’m not mad at you, I don’t - I don’t blame you for wanting an out,” He then continues, squeezing Dick’s hand. It’s a move more intimate than anything Dick ever thought he would receive from the older man again. He tries to find the will to answer, squirming a little in his bed, hoping to find the energy to say anything, to at least open his eyes. He doesn’t.

“Don’t feel like you have to answer that,” Hank quickly adds, “we.. we’ll talk more, tomorrow, when you feel better and you’ve slept.”

Hank lets go of his hand, and Dick finds himself missing the warmth. A blanket is being draped over his body, up to his shoulders, and tucked around him. The only part free from the blanket cocoon is his hand, still poking out from under the blanket. It’s resting open palm up on the bed, where Hank left it.

As Dick starts drifting off properly, he hears Hank sit down. It makes the chair screech against the floor, and he hears Hank curse under his breath. It brings a small smile onto his face, the first one in a while. Some things never change it seems.

Seconds later, he feels a big hand slip into his own again.

He hears Hank whisper something, a soft, “why”, followed by something more he can’t quite catch. He’s already slipping into the kind of comfortable sleep only the real good drugs can gift him with.

Hank’s last question will have to wait, Dick’s not even sure if he was meant to hear it anyway. He has a thousand questions himself, the paranoid detective in him itching to get all the details. Who was it that saved Jason, and what’s happened while he was unconscious? Is everyone else okay?

Right now, though, he feels whatever care he had about it slip away into nothing. Another problem for another day. For now, he can let it go, mostly thanks to the drugs.

For the first time in a very long time, as he lets the comforting darkness consume him, he feels safe.

[blueandyellow1]

Witch Hunt Chapter 14: Embarking

Ao3 link. 

Despite the somewhat rough start, the trio boarded the bus without any further incidents. Because it was late, the bus was nearly empty, giving them room to stretch out. They had three hours to their destination, to Monterey.

Connie took up a row to herself, spreading her legs across the seat next to her. She had brought her headphones, and was listening to music with her eyes closed.

Yellow was seated next to the window, with Blue beside her. She was looking out the window, watching the scenery as it zoomed past. One hand rested on the windowsill, a hand bent under her chin. The other lay on the seat next to her, fallen through the phantom’s lap.

||Did you tell Pearl and Jasper you are leaving?||

The blonde started at the sudden question. She frowned. “No, I haven’t. To be honest, I haven’t even thought about them, with how sudden all this came.”

||Will you message them?||

“That’s probably a good idea,” Yellow said as she pulled out her phone and typed a quick message to her friends. She tilted the screen to Blue, showing the sent message.

||Thank you.||

Yellow studies Blue’s profile for a moment. “You might be the nicest person I’ve ever met,” she says after a while.

||What?||

Blue turns her head, looking straight into Yellow’s amber eyes.

Yellow feels herself melt under the intensity. “Nice. You--you’re really nice. Kind. You’re always looking out for me.”

The phantom turns her gaze down to her hands, twisted together. Yellow’s hand sticks through Blue’s and she watches as her fingers twist around her own.

||You and Connie are doing so much for me. Even before we embarked on this journey, when we only spoke, I was so grateful for you. You listened to me, cared about me. I’ve never felt that way before. I only want to return that care for you. You’re so important to me, Yellow.||

Tears began to prickle in Yellow’s eyes, and she had to quickly blink them away. Blue didn’t notice, her head now bowed down after her confession, her silvery hair obstructing her face from view.

“Well, you’re important to me as well. I’m grateful to have met you. I’d be lying if I said I don’t feel the same.”

Blue looked back to her, a lock of her hair still falling in front of one eye. She was silent, and Yellow offered her a small smile back. Blue’s lips curved up.

...

The remainder of the bus ride was spent in silence, both Yellow and Connie having fallen asleep. The two stirred gently, before looking out the window, to the lush forest next to the road.

“Okay, well I got us a motel room. It’s right down the street, we can sleep there for the night,” Connie informed them.

The room was tiny, with only enough room for two small beds. The two sisters quickly changed into night clothes and settled into the beds.

“Wait,” Yellow said, suddenly sitting up.

“Just go to sleep, Yellow. We have a lot to do tomorrow,” Connie replied sleepily.

Ignoring her, Yellow looked around the room. “Blue, will you be alright for the night?”

||Yes.||

Yellow turned towards the voice. “Good.”

||Your sister is right, you should sleep.||

“See? Your ghost girlfriend agrees with me,” Connie muttered, already half asleep.

“Connie!” Yellow yelped, flushing. She laid back down, pulling the thin blanket up. She closed her eyes, tiredness suddenly overwhelming her.

||Goodnight.||

The spirit’s gentle voice was the last thing she heard before she drifted to sleep.

...

Yellow woke up early, before the alarm that she and Connie had set. She sat up, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. “Blue?” she whisper-yelled.

||Good morning, Yellow.||

Grinning at the gentle voice, Yellow stuck out an arm. “How did you sleep? Or, wait, do you sleep?”

Blue couldn’t help the giggle that burst out of her lips as she laid her hand on Yellow’s outstretched arm. The blonde looked adorably confused, with her short hair sticking up and laying flat in all the places it normally didn’t.

Yellow’s grin widened, and she gazed into cerulean eyes. Once Blue got her breath under control, she answered softly.

||I don’t sleep, no. Not since I lost my form.||

The grin faded from Yellow’s lips. “Are you tired?”

||No, not physically. I have no body to require sleep.||

“That makes sense,” Yellow responded before asking, “What do you do during the night?”

||Most nights I visit the residents in the apartment building. Mr. Peterson, for example, watches TV until late, then Joy, in apartment 15 comes home from her night shift. If no one is up, I like to sit near the stairs, by the window, and look outside.||

“You don’t watch anyone sleep?” Yellow asks teasingly.

||Of course not.||

The sincerity in the spirit’s voice surprised her. “You’re very considerate.”

||I don’t want to invade anyone’s privacy...any more than I already do.||

Yellow studied Blue, who had a faraway look on her face. She thought about the thousands of nights she must have endured, waiting for the residents to wake up.

||Last night, I went to the edge of the forest. It’s so close. I can feel the witch, I can feel her power.||

Blue’s voice broke Yellow’s reverie. “I can’t believe we’re doing this. In a few hours, you might have a physical form again. Are you excited?”

||Yes.||

The spirit admitted, guilt clear in her eyes and her voice.

Yellow leaned to her, placing a kiss to her cheek. “I can’t wait to kiss you, and hug you.”

Cerulean eyes opened wide, surprised at Yellow’s confession. A blue blush crept across her cheeks and her mouth opened wordlessly.

Luckily for her, the alarm began to beep, saving her from having to speak. In the other bed, Connie stirred, sitting up.

A chuckle from Yellow made Connie squint at her suspiciously. “What’s so funny?”

“Oh, nothing. Come, we have a witch to find!” Yellow said, getting out of bed.

Connie huffed, but to Yellow’s relief, didn’t say anything.

…

Once they were standing at the edge of the forest, everyone’s nerves were a bit tense. Even Connie, who was usually the most optimistic of the three, was subdued.

Yellow, with her heart pounding was the first to plunge in. Her eyes burned with a fierce determination.

||Wait.||

Blue’s voice stopped the blonde midstep. “It’s okay, Blue. We want to do this for you.”

“Yeah, and even if we’re a little scared and unsure, we’re going to do this together.” Connie’s voice was strong, determination creeping in.

||Will you at least let me go first? I can call out if there’s danger, I don’t think I can be harmed by physical objects or beings.||

“But if we find the witch, she’ll definitely be able to harm you!” Yellow protested.

||Please let me do this for you. I would feel terrible if something happened to either of you.||

“Okay,” Yellow reluctantly agreed, “But I’ll be just behind you, okay? I brought this sword, and I can fight, remember?”

Blue nodded and they were on their way.

The forest was thick, as thick as Blue remembered it that night all those years ago. This time, she wasn’t alone and no one was dying. Beautiful plants were growing and blooming even though it was winter. It would be pleasant, if she wasn’t so scared.

They walked for a few hours, stopping to take breaks along the way. Connie had divided the forest into a grid on her map so that they could cover the area more effectively, and so that they wouldn’t get lost.

During one of their breaks, Blue spoke, worry etched deeply on her face.

||Maybe we should go back, it’s getting late and we shouldn’t be out once it gets dark.||

“It’s only three! Why don’t we give it another hour and then we can turn around,” Connie suggests.

||Alright. I don’t know if we’ll find it. The people in my village once said she only appears when someone is willing to pay the price. We only have something to barter with, maybe she won’t appear.||

“Well, maybe it’s just a legend. Besides, the people in the stories I found didn’t have to pay the price,” Connie said shrugging.

Yellow listened to them talk. Connie was retelling the stories she found, and Blue was picking them apart. Her mind drifted off to the lush forest around them, taking in their surroundings. If Blue doesn’t have a body, she can’t pay the price. Does the price have to be a body?

The blonde looked to Blue, who was sitting on a fallen tree in between herself and Connie. Their shoulders overlapped, and Yellow studied the back of her head, watching her silver hair sway slightly when she nodded. Taking a deep breath, she steeled her mind.

I am willing to pay the price. For Blue. I would do anything so that she doesn’t have to suffer anymore.

As soon as the thought left her head, a flash of blinding light began to grow around them. All three squinted, trying to see what was inside. After what felt like hours, the light began to fade, leaving a rickety wooden hut in front of them, with the door slightly ajar.

[cyclone-rachel]

Pay the Asking Price

a Supergirl fanfic

chapter 15

AO3 link

previous chapters: 1//2//3//4//5//6//7//8//9//10//11//12//13//14

~

When Querl woke up, he thought he was still dreaming.

He still wasn’t wearing his image inducer, he realized, but that didn’t matter- the woman lying beside him loved him for who he was, alien appearance or not. They were illuminated by the soft morning light coming through Kara’s windows, and when he turned over to his other side, she was there with her eyes open, looking at him lovingly.

For he was in her bed, her white and green and blue comforter draped over them both, and neither of them were completely wearing their pajamas.

“Kara.” He said, smiling at her. She ran a hand through his hair, before kissing his cheek.

“Good morning to you too.” Kara answered. “Your hair looks really cute when it’s messy, you know.”

“Then I will try to have it like this more often.” Querl said.

(He didn’t think messy hair could be cute, and being who he was, he was often held to a higher standard where his appearance was concerned- meaning that he had to look immaculate in all areas of his grooming, including his hair, and any deviation or deterioration was usually a sign that he was working long hours, or otherwise neglecting his needs in favor of professional concerns. He would have been concerned… but now, with her, he was starting to see things differently. She was giving him a reason to relax, and work while still taking care of himself, and he now allowed himself to be more vulnerable around her.

To wake up with messy hair, and not be afraid of what it meant for him or what he was doing)

“You don’t have to do anything.” She said.

Querl relaxed, and kissed her forehead.

“Then I will not.” He answered. “Thank you. I… trust that our night together was good?”

“It was. You were.” Kara said. “Thank you, Querl. I felt so good this morning that I could’ve… I don’t know, pulled a tanker or helped deliver a litter of puppies, or stopped a bunch of armed robberies- or even just gotten coffee and flowers for us.”

“You can still do all of those things.” Querl answered. “I can wait for you.”

“Yeah, and I wanted to wait until you woke up.” Kara said. “I mean… for a long time, before I came to Earth, I was stuck. I didn’t know what was real and what wasn’t.”

Querl took her hands, and gently held them, as she continued.

“And sometimes, even now, I still feel like that. Dreams blend into reality… and waking up to see one of the most handsome men I’ve ever met next to me felt too good to be true. But it was real, and you’re real, and I’m so happy that you’re here.”

“As am I.” Querl said. “And I will always listen, to whatever you want to say.”

And I would be happy to wake up beside you for the rest of my life.

He gradually let go of her hands, then, as she got up- and before he knew it, she was in her Supergirl suit, off to save the world in the way she knew how- or at least save the morning- and then she was back, carrying a small tray of coffees from Noonan’s and a bouquet of roses.

Querl put the bouquet into a vase, and after Kara changed into civilian clothes, she hugged him, as his arms went around her, and they kissed again.

“Sure is nice to do that without breaking the person’s nose.” Kara said, whispering the words into his mouth.

Querl pulled away, just a little.

“How many times has that happened?”

“Less than… five.” Kara admitted sheepishly.

“So, four? Exactly four times?” he asked, as Kara laughed, leaning on him for a moment before they kissed again.

“Maybe.” She said. “But… I’ll tell you about that later, because we have to be at work in 20 minutes.”

“Yes.” Querl answered. “We do.”

“And speaking of which, could we keep this… quiet?” Kara asked. “I want people to know, it’s just…”

I don’t want this to end up like what happened with James. I won’t let it.

“For now.” She clarified. “The last time I liked someone, everyone in my life watched, and commented on it, and I just really don’t want that to happen to us.”

Trust me, I understand that.

“So, there is an “us”?” Querl asked.

“Yeah.” Kara said, smiling at him as she held him again.

“I like that.”

They kissed again, and Querl knew he would never get tired of such a sensation.

“Of course we can keep it quiet.” He said.

I wouldn’t dream of doing otherwise to you.

~ And he didn’t. But it was very difficult, later that day when they were in the DEO together, not to walk up to J’onn and Alex and announce that he and Kara were dating. He wanted for the two of them to be holding hands, wanted to kiss her in public, anything to remind him that this relationship was a real and tangible thing. Kara Zor-El had chosen him, he had chosen her, they had strong feelings for one another and nothing- not even having to fill out forms from the DEO’s HR department and having to attend seminars, as he was sure they’d have to do once they told J’onn and Alex- would hinder that.

However, Querl also knew that he likely would not be telling James about the nature of his and Kara’s new relationship. He and Winn seemed to be together now, and were quite happy with each other, but it just seemed insensitive to tell him on his own, without Kara there. He could have told Maggie and Lena, but he didn’t know them well enough, and Eve… well, she seemed like someone he couldn’t tell any sensitive information to, no matter what it was.

Winn, though… he was a safe option, as long as Kara let her tell him. He was in a new relationship himself, and might share in the excitement Querl admitted he was feeling at the moment. He was a friend of Kara’s, and had been working with Querl long enough that he felt that they knew each other better than he and some of Kara’s other friends. And Querl wasn’t sure about how well Winn could keep a secret, but he had kept James’s long enough, so what was one more?

But again, he couldn’t tell him yet. So Querl only kept his and Kara’s relationship “close to the vest”, so to speak, and with that human phrase in mind he imagined such knowledge was held in concentrated form, beating in time with his heart.

“Holy Cadmus crème egg.” Winn said, just as Querl had been thinking about him, and pulled something up on the monitors.

“Cadmus? But they’ve been dark since Lillian broke out of prison.”

“Ah, but they are back and with a vengeance.” Winn continued, zeroing in closer on the footage he had. “We got a convoy coming out from one of their suspected weapon storage facilities.”

“Tell Alex and Querl to set up a backup team.” Kara said, not thinking about the fact that she’d just used Brainy’s real name.

(The name that she’d had on her mind ever since the time they’d shared last night, that she’d gasped almost into his mouth, that she thought suited him far better than his title did)

(She didn’t know whether or not Winn would read too much into it, but she sure hoped not. As happy as she was, the idea of revealing a new relationship so soon was still daunting, and no less scary- and it would’ve been even if she wasn’t Supergirl.)

“You’re going alone?”

“No, I’m taking the other fly guy.” Kara answered, already on her way out.

“Teamwork makes the dream work!” Winn shouted after her, and if Kara looked behind her, she’d probably see him doing finger guns, or perhaps a double thumbs-up.

But right then, she was focused, and her focus led her and J’onn to the Cadmus trucks, to an area near a Lord Technologies active test range.

Where, after not being able to see inside the main truck initially, and being shot at from several of the vans surrounding the truck, Kara Danvers finally found her adoptive father again.

~

Querl, wanting to leave the Danvers sisters to their family reunion in the DEO medbay (as Alex took care of Jeremiah, checking to see how much Cadmus had really done to him) got a briefing of the situation from Winn, who had the courtesy to wait with him outside.

According to him, Jeremiah had been lost in the Amazon rainforest, and woken up in Cadmus, where he had personally been forced to turn Hank Henshaw into the being known as the Cyborg-Superman. He had been made to stay there precisely because he’d apparently done such a good job enhancing Henshaw, and though he had tried to escape, each attempt was unsuccessful. But he saw his confinement as a good thing- through it, he was able to keep his daughters safe.

“I came as soon as I heard.” Querl said, entering after he thought it appropriate to do so.

“Brainiac 5 of Colu.” Jeremiah said. “We meet again.”

“I’m glad you are unharmed.” Querl answered- though a scan revealed that he, too, had been enhanced below the surface. “I was worried that, after you let us out, Cadmus would-“

“Imprison and torture me for betraying them? Well, you’d be right.”

Kara, beside Querl, looked just as worried as Querl had felt- and was now sad for him, closing her eyes and letting her head drop down in a mournful pose.

“Dad, the, uh… the damage to your hand, it’s extensive.” Alex said, turning Jeremiah’s attention to her.

“It was… a punishment for helping Querl and Kara escape. But I would do it again in a heartbeat… so lucky you found me. So lucky to be back with you two.”

He smiled at his daughters, as Alex looked like she was about to cry and Kara was smiling back. The punishment and torture he spoke of showed on his face, and clearly it was difficult for both sisters to handle, as happy as they were to have their father back.

But Jeremiah’s words triggered a thought process, in Querl’s mind, as he considered the scans he’d ran of Jeremiah’s body, just how easy it had seemed for Kara and J’onn to get him off of the transport- and for that matter, how easy it had been for them to find said transport in the first place, how Cadmus- if he was indeed one of their valuable assets, predisposition for betrayal aside- hadn’t seemed to fight for his return…

“It’s more than luck.” He concluded, and it wasn’t until J’onn stared at him, with the others following suit, that he realized he’d said it out loud.

“What do you mean?” J’onn asked, standing up.

“We received an alert that Cadmus was moving a weapon, we do not get alerts unless they’re releasing a video or we catch them red-handed, as the saying goes.” Querl answered.

“But we did catch them red-handed.” Kara said.

“Yes, but they meant for us to see them- waving said metaphorical red hands in the air.” He answered. “Literally, as though they did not care.”

Kara looked surprised, but Jeremiah spoke next.

“Querl’s right. You need to keep your guard up, because Cadmus does have a weapon.”

“What is it?”

“A nuclear fusion bomb.” Said Jeremiah, hesitating before the third word.

The others exchanged worried looks, before he continued.

“They’re gonna destroy National City.” He said. “And blame it on hostile aliens.”

“How did Cadmus get their hands on it?” asked Kara.

“No, they didn’t steal it. They built it.” Jeremiah answered. “Using the radiation they mined from your heat vision when you were in their custody.” Querl placed a hand on Kara’s shoulder, and J’onn and Alex quickly followed, as if to say: This is not your fault. You are not to blame for what they will try to do with this weapon. You do not need to burden yourself with guilt over their stealing your energy that you put to good use every day. You are still good.

“Oh my god.” Kara murmured.

~ “So, what you’re telling me is that Jeremiah Danvers, former DEO agent and Kara and Alex’s long-lost father, has returned from Cadmus custody with the news that our enemy has developed a nuclear fusion explosive using Kara’s otherworldly heat vision radiation, and that they’re going to drop that on National City and just kill us all?” Winn asked, facing the others while sitting in his chair and giving them the falsest smile that Querl had ever seen, although perhaps that was the point. He clapped his hands together. “Ha!”

But he quickly grew more serious, realizing what he’d just summarized.

“Is- is this- is this place bombproof?”

J’onn looked at him as though he were a disappointed father, reacting to his son asking him if he could play football indoors.

“You could run a trace on Kara’s heat vision radiation signature.” Jeremiah pointed out.

“Yeah! Right! Well, if the bomb was armed, then yes I might be able to pinpoint its location before it goes off.”

“Good. Get to work, Winn.” J’onn said.

“Jeremiah!”

His face lit up, as Eliza Danvers made her entrance, and Alex looked back at Kara with an expression Querl couldn’t place as Jeremiah said “Eliza!” and rushed over to her, and the two embraced one another.

“Oh, my God, did I miss you.” Jeremiah said.

Kara was audibly excited, watching their reunion, but Alex was more hesitant- although she was just as happy as her sister.

“Kara, may I speak with you?” Querl asked.

“Yeah, what’s up?”

They walked over into a side corridor, as Querl explained himself.

“Kara, I am just as happy as you are to see your father back.” He said. “However, I was there when we were in captivity together, and I watched you solar-flare… and it did not look like they were trying to capture your heat vision. Rather, it looked more like they wanted you to expend your energy, so they could cause you more pain.”

“Brainy…” she started. But as many excuses as she had- you don’t know how that works, this is a twenty-first century device so you don’t understand it as well as stuff you have in the future, maybe I just want to enjoy my adoptive father being back for a little while before we start accusing him of anything- she had to admit to herself that Querl was a scientist, he did know what he was talking about… and perhaps he was even familiar with similar devices himself. “Querl. I understand your concerns. But for right now, I’m trusting Jeremiah. He’s always protected me at great cost, and he protected you too. Maybe give him the benefit of the doubt?”

“He lived with your enemy for years. They forced him to keep Henshaw alive, what makes you think that they’re not forcing Jeremiah to do something at this moment?”

Kara squeezed his hand, maybe a little more forcefully than she would’ve.

“I know you’re just trying to look out for us.” She said.

And maybe, as a Brainiac, you expect deceit from those around you.

“For me.” She continued. “But he needs us right now. Please.”

Querl sighed, filing away the scans he’d made and the rest of his evidence. If trust in Jeremiah based on lived experience with knowing his character was good enough for Kara… it could, with time, be good enough for him.

It had been good enough for Superman, when Querl was the one to be suspicious of. Surely he could return the favor with Kara’s father.

“Okay.” He said. “Alright.”

Kara smiled, and hugged him.

“Thank you.” She said. “We’re having a family dinner to celebrate his return. You’re welcome to get to know him, spend time with him, and you’ll see that there’s nothing to be afraid of. At all. Jeremiah’s return isn’t an accidental gift, it’s just a gift, and we should be happy about it.”

Querl nodded.

I am. For now, at least.

~ Kara opened the door to Querl, holding two beverages in his hands.

“This one is for myself.” He said, indicating one of them. “And this is for the rest of you.”

He gave that one to Kara, who smiled at him, the tension between them over Jeremiah’s return now lessened- especially evidenced by the kiss Kara gave him when she closed the door.

“Was I supposed to wear a tie?” he asked.

“No.” Kara said, as he moved on to see Jeremiah, now looking decidedly healthier, as well as Eliza.

“Doctor Danvers! And Doctor Danvers.” He said, indicating both of them.

“Eliza, Jeremiah, this is… my boyfriend, Querl.” Kara said. “We just really started dating, but… we’re really happy together.”

“Good to hear.” Eliza said, as Jeremiah looked up from slicing limes in half to smile at them. “He’s such a sweet boy.”

Querl nodded, still somewhat getting used to Kara’s usage of that word (as neither of them had used such terms as boyfriend and girlfriend to apply to each other yet- but he was nonetheless happy beyond words to hear her use it, even though there were quite a few others over the years who’d also done so when in relationships with him), as Kara walked with him towards the couches, where Alex and Maggie were sitting.

~ J’onn entered just as Jeremiah was starting to pour drinks for everyone, and Jeremiah wasted no time in giving him a hug, thanking him for saving his life again and for keeping his promise to watch over Kara and Alex.

“It was an honor.” J’onn said, and Kara raised her glass.

“A toast. To coming home.” She said, and the rest echoed it, clinking their glasses against one another’s, before drinking.

“Now obviously, this is going to be a time of adjustment.” Jeremiah said. “But I hope you’ll all be patient with me. I’ve seen and done things I wish I hadn’t…”

Kara gave Querl a look that she hoped everyone else didn’t catch before turning her attention back on Jeremiah.

“Dad.” Alex said, eyes shining with empathy for him. “Don’t.”

“Sweetie, if I’m gonna move forward, I can’t ignore my past.” He said, as Eliza began to gently rub his back. “Cadmus… changed me, they tried to break me, and in the process they made me dangerous. I know their weaknesses, and I’m here to work with all of you to make our planet safer.”

That’s just what he wants you to think.

But I’m trusting Kara. And if she’s taking his words at face value, then I should, too.

So he hushed his doubts, and took a sip of his drink- which, he had to commend the Danvers parents for, was excellently prepared.

“So, if you’ll have me, Director, I would like to return to the DEO.” Jeremiah said, turning to J’onn. “Formally.”

“J’onn?” Kara said. “Can he?”

“Pending a full psych evaluation, and a field readiness exam, I’ll give you the tour tomorrow.” J’onn said, just as happy to have his friend back.

“Thank you, friend.” Jeremiah answered, placing a hand on his arm.

“Maybe you should say something nice to him.” Kara whispered to Querl.

“I’m glad you’re returning, sir.” Querl said. “I… understand the plight you’ve been through, and I offer my condolences, and my sympathies.”

“Thank you.” Jeremiah answered, as Querl could see he wasn’t sure how to respond.

“It is fortunate, that you returned when you did, to help us with stopping this new weapon you’ve given us knowledge of.”

“You mean when he was rescued.” Alex said, insistently.

“Right. That.” He answered. “It’s a gift. Truly.”

“Querl?” Kara said, pulling him aside after he quieted himself again. “What would you do, if your father walked through that door?”

“I… don’t know.” Querl said. “I never met him.”

But he must have been someone my mother deemed worthy of having intercourse with. So at the very least, based on that point I would not welcome him with open arms.

“Suppose you had. Suppose he’d raised you, and you trusted him, but he disappeared from your life at a young age, but now after so many years, he just came back in and wanted to be your father again. Would you deny him that?”

“I would have to know he were telling the truth.”

“Okay. Well, in this case, we have reason to believe that Jeremiah is, and if this were your father- even though I don’t know a thing about him- I think I’d feel the same that you are about this situation.” Kara answered. “So, would you like to come back to dinner, or not?”

Querl considered leaving, to make certain he didn’t say something that would cause Jeremiah discomfort. But then again, Kara wanted him to be hopeful about this. She trusted him to be private about their dating situation, and he’d kept that privacy. He would honor her request once again now, despite anything about this that was still bothering him.

“I am sorry.” He said. “I would love to.”

Kara smiled, and they went to sit down, the mood considerably lighter. ~ “Hey.” Winn said, sitting down next to Querl at the bar.

“For you.” Querl answered, passing him a drink. “Perfect timing, thanks for coming.”

They clinked their drinks together, before starting in on them.

“Always happy to grab a drink, but you do realize that we’re, like, kinda in an all-hands-on-deck situation right now, trying to track down that fusion… b-o-m-b?”

“Very discreet.” Querl noted.

“Uh, speaking of. What’s so top-secret that you can’t talk to me about it at the DEO, yeah?”

“It’s… Jeremiah’s return.” He said. “I am trying my best to be hopeful about this situation, for Kara. But...”

“I get it, man. You’re worried about her and Alex. And trust me, if it were my mom, I’d have my doubts too.” Winn answered.

“Right.” Querl said, noting to ask Winn more about his own family at a later time. “My point is, what if Cadmus allowed us to rescue Jeremiah so he could sabotage us? Just when this doomsday bomb is about to be detonated? Just consider it.”

Winn sighed.

“You really think so?”

“I would not lie to you. We have never been this lucky- not to mention that the DEO has not been able to locate Jeremiah for 11 years, but now he just resurfaces?”

“So you think Jeremiah is…”

Querl could think of countless ways to finish that sentence, but he opted for saying, “He is just… someone we need to be cautious around. At least until we know exactly what he’s been doing for those past eleven years.”

Winn sat back, taking a long sip of his drink.

“Well, far be it from me to argue with a Brainiac.” He said. “I mean, if you think he’s suspicious, I’ll help you.”

“Thank you.” Querl answered, placing a hand on his shoulder. “You’re a true friend, Winn.”

“Pfft. I know.”

“You realize now that you owe me a favor in return?”

“Of course. Anything.”

Winn’s face grew somber as he answered, “I know how much you like Kara. I mean, even for someone who isn’t a twelfth-level intellect, it’s pretty obvious.”

Querl sighed.

“Yes- you are correct.” He said. “What is your favor?”

“Just be good to her.”

“I would rather die than do otherwise.”

Winn gave him a sad smile, squeezing his shoulder, and he looked like he was going to say something else. But James entered, then, getting an update from Winn on when they would go on their next patrol, information Winn gave to him easily. And when he’d gotten that information, Winn kissed James, lingering for a little bit before pulling away.

Querl didn’t comment, only happy for the two of them, just as he had been for Alex and Maggie.

James left, while Querl watched Winn’s soft, love-struck eyes follow him out.

“And you be good to him.” Querl said, as Winn nodded and they clinked their drinks again.

~

“Winn? Brainy, you wanted to see me?”

Kara closed the door behind her, knowing what she was in for.

“Yes. Winn found something, and we only thought you should know about it- presenting this objectively, for you to take or leave as you wish.” Querl answered.

“Okay. What is it?” Kara asked, letting herself trust her boyfriend- just as she’d asked him to trust her- and her best friend, even though she still hoped that Jeremiah wasn’t in the wrong.

“So, earlier today, J’onn was giving Jeremiah a tour of the facility, right?” Winn started. “But when J’onn stepped away, I saw Jeremiah trying to break into the DEO mainframe.”

“Are you sure?” Kara asked. “Wait, were you spying on Jeremiah?”

“I was in the right place at the right time.” Winn said.

“Well, do you know he was breaking in? J’onn could’ve given him access- you don’t know what he was doing, or what he was looking up.”

“I can access that- link to the computer, find what he was searching for.” Querl pointed out.

“Alright.” Kara said. “Do it.”

Jeremiah is spying on us, Winn thought. Probably. We might as well return the favor.

~ “Hey, Jeremiah, can we talk for a minute?”

“Sure, what’s up?” he asked, as Kara walked back into the command center, Querl and Winn behind her.

“Is everything okay?” Alex said.

“Earlier today, you accessed highly classified files from the DEO mainframe.” Kara said, turning to Jeremiah.

“That’s true, I did.”

“Why?”

“I tried to use my old passkey to look at some casefiles.” He said, even though Querl had looked at those casefiles himself once he’d gotten a DEO identification, and the information didn’t match up. All the while, Jeremiah’s left arm was positioned as though he was wearing a cast on it, and although that wasn’t entirely relevant to the situation at hand, Querl could tell that said arm was cybernetic below the surface. “But the access codes have changed, so I did a workaround to get inside.”

“What were you looking at?”

“Casefiles. From the last 16 months.” Jeremiah said. “I wanted to see what my daughters had been up to. Crises that you faced, people that you saved, adventures you’d been on… I’ve been away, so long, case histories were just a way for me to feel like I was there, a little. I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry too.” Kara said. “Brainy?”

“He is… telling the truth.” Querl answered. “I do not see any record otherwise.”

“Alright. Back to work.” J’onn said. “That includes you, Agent Danvers- Jeremiah, and Alex.”

Alex nodded, in satisfaction, leading her father away before the rest of the group dispersed as well.

~

Querl found Winn at the alien bar again, while Winn was in the middle of a darts game with James.

“Hey, Brainy.” James said, before Winn went to talk to Brainy alone.

“That was impressive.” Querl noted, gesturing to Winn’s dart- not near the center of the board, but still on it nonetheless, which was still good especially if he was drunk.

“Yeah, last time I tried to play darts, I stabbed fish-head dude over there.” Winn said, lowering his voice. “I think his name is Brian? He was nice about it, but I think he might still have a grudge on me.”

“Doesn’t seem like him.” Querl answered. “The grudge-holding, that is. But I meant that I’m happy for you two.”

“And I hope I’ll be happy for you and Kara, once we get this Jeremiah thing sorted out.” Winn said. “It’s just…”

“The situation is complicated. And it is truly for Kara and Alex to sort out for themselves, is it not?”

“Like with everything, you’re right.” Winn said. “And maybe we could both listen to them.”

Winn’s phone pinged, then, and he pulled it out, looking at the notification.

“Well, apparently at least I did something right.” He continued, stabbing a dart into the board for emphasis. “Because I tracked Supergirl’s radiation signature. Cadmus is moving the fusion bomb.”

~

Querl, Alex, and Kara, suited up and prepared to face Cadmus, were in the building where the fusion bomb was supposed to be located… but they saw nothing. No bomb, no Cadmus agents…

“J’onn, please advise, there’s no sign of target.” Alex said. “I repeat, there’s no sign of target, there’s nothing here.”

“What’s going on?” J’onn asked, voice low. “Why can’t I read your mind?”

He’s addressing Jeremiah, Querl thought.

“Dad?” Alex asked, but there was no response.

“We have to get back. Now.” Kara said, and Alex and Querl agreed.

“Let’s move!” Alex ordered, as the others followed her.

~ When they finally got back, it was to the sight of J’onn healing from his injuries- what they were was anyone’s guess- and no Jeremiah. Winn was sitting at J’onn’s bedside, keeping watch over him, as someone was tending to his injuries too.

“Is he okay?” Alex asked, briefly placing her hand on Winn’s shoulder as she passed him.

“Yeah, he will be.” Winn said. “Look, Jeremiah got the jump on him.”

“He couldn’t have.” Alex insisted, still protective of her father. “Okay, look, even if my dad has turned, there’s no way that he could’ve overpowered J’onn.”

“Yeah, that’s what I would have thought.” J’onn said.

Kara sighed with relief, happy to hear him speak.

“Oh, thank Rao you’re okay.” She said.

“Jeremiah’s arm- the one we thought had nerve damage- it’s been enhanced. Cybernetically.”

“I’m aware.” Querl answered. “He is like the other Hank Henshaw- a Cyborg-Superman, an empowered human in service of Cadmus’s ideals.”

“Jeremiah isn’t who he was.” J’onn continued, turning to Alex. “I’m sorry.”

“Not as sorry as Cadmus is going to be.” Alex said.

“We’ll find him.” Kara answered, backing up her sister once more. “Brainy? Winn?”

“Yes. We can track him.”

~

Afterwards, Querl knocked on Kara’s apartment door.

“It’s unlocked.” She called, sounding disheartened.

He entered, setting the pizza and potstickers he’d picked up on the way onto Kara’s kitchen table.

“You’re not alright.”

“No.” Kara confirmed.

“I apologize.” Querl said, walking over to her. “I… am aware that I was right… but that is insensitive. What I mean to say is that I did not want to be right. I hoped, just as you did, that Jeremiah was not a true agent of Cadmus.”

“I know.”

“And… I am here.” He continued. “Tell me what you need. Anything, and I will listen.”

Kara sat up, dislodging the blue blanket she'd covered herself in.

“Just be here with me.” She answered, and wrapped the blanket around both of them as she let herself be held in his arms, and he hoped he was doing his best to soothe her.

“Do you need anything else?” he asked, as she wrapped her arms around him as well.

“Will you wake up with me?” Kara asked in a small voice.

“I’d love to.” He said as he kissed her forehead, and she gently stroked his face in appreciation of that promise.

Kara’s phone rang, then, and she sat up completely, answering it.

“Winn. Did you figure out what Jeremiah stole from the DEO computers?”

“Brainy and I both did, and it’s not good, Kara.” Winn answered. Kara could hear him breathing heavily. “He took the national alien registry.”

“Okay. I’m coming in.” Kara said, hanging up.

“Cadmus has a list of all the aliens in the country.” Querl said.

“And we’re getting up.”

Kara did just that, with Querl right behind her.

I would go with you anywhere, for any purpose. Especially for something as important as this.

[oncerpotter2018]

Understanding Dark Phoenix: DEATH

Death seems so far away for some but for others, it could be knocking on their door when they least expect it. Death seems so unavoidable, but the reality is much grimmer then we expect. Dark Phoenix is surrounded by the deaths of the family on both ends of the spectrum, from the familiar to the stranger we barely know. The film begins with the death of a mother and soon a trail of dead love ones opens doors to a new perspective on the hero’s death; these characters die in a realistic setting, dying in places that seem so ordinary and urban. By the time we notice these deaths, it seems too late to save them.

Elaine Grey. Her death was an accident but to John, it feels like an attack, a personal attack and betrayal to him as a father. His own wife was dead and so was he on the inside as he became devoid of all other emotions apart from grief and pure sadness. Elaine didn’t get a chance to see her own daughter grow up, didn’t get to keep her own promise and look after her daughter like a mother should do. She seems to be in her mid-twenties and young, she is happily married and with her child but when her own concern is focused on her daughter’s wellbeing, she and her husband couldn’t look away from her. Their parental instance as they turned their heads were more important than where they are going. This, however, is a fatal mistake as Jean control gets out of hand, soon causing her mother to lose consciousness having John to take back that control. This resulted in a car on truck collision triggering the events that would soon unfold as a young Jean would learn to control what she couldn’t before. And for Elaine’s death, it was just a tragic accident that resulted in grief, destruction and an emotional and mental battle inside her daughter. Elaine Grey died too young, to be there for her child when her father could not.

John Gray. His death was not as important as his wife but still played a role in the wake of Vuk as she reaches Jean. He had just witnessed what his daughter could unleash and yet when he died in the hands of Vuk, I kind of felt sorry for him at the same time it was probably time for him to leave this life. He had lived in pain and grief for too long and at some point in his life, he always wanted to be reunited with his wife, Elaine and so he did. But it is kind of tragic to have him die that way, to be taken by a character that truly represented death. He had been through enough, and it was rightfully so for him to die as a result of what has happened, making him leave this life and end his own pain and suffering. But for his neglect and actions, I doubt that he would be joining his wife in heaven. In the form of the Angel of Death, killing him was a way to show that sometimes we can’t escape death even if we want to because someday we are all going to die and it is coming too soon and yet he was in so much pain and suffered for so much of his life that his death was a chance to remove himself from all of this. Forever. As well as that his death was a price to pay for his own sins,  payment for his lost hope for his daughter Jean.

Raven Darkholme. A Sister, Mother. Friend. Lover. A Hero. She was all these things and most likely a person who everyone looked up to and cared about. She was someone who had been through years of fighting for what she believed in. Raven Darkholme was once a small little girl who just wanted something to eat, and it seemed that fate had brought her to the right person as she is found by Charles. And pretty soon, she and Charles are part of a team, forming a family of their own. And no matter what seems to get in their way, she never seemed to lose her hope in her brother, she loves him, and she also loves Hank too. She and Hank first met each other inside the CIA Home Base. It was as though they had been in the classic trope of ‘love at first sight’ and that is what it was. Raven had made many relationships with people, making friends and enemies, she had fallouts and makeups with her brother, her lover and her friend Erik. She was seen as a hero but didn’t want to be seen as one. She became the mother and a sister for the younger mutants and for those like Strom, Scott, Jean and Kurt, she was their hero. Dark Phoenix showed her being the sister, mother and hero she was set out to be but still the hero status was something she barely wanted. This fame, the same costumes and smiling for the pictures, it was becoming too much for her to handle, she didn’t want this life because she knows this is his life, not theirs. She knew her brother, she had known him more than everyone else and of course, she had some time to say, she was just frustrated, she was done with his ego and when she died, Charles had finally realised he was wrong, that she was right. Her death wasn’t only a tragic accident but also it was the reaction of Hank and her family that was the saddest. The way that Hank cried for Raven to come back was the most tragic as he held on to her for such as a long time. It was a moment of respect and reflection as Raven was bought back home and buried, to have them say their final goodbyes as Hank only wished that she was there with him, forever and always. Mutant and Proud.

The Guard. He somehow is missed by many people, but once I realised his value to the film, his death had great importance and he was just a few people that made me cried without even knowing who he was. His name isn’t mentioned, he only said one line and yet for a minor character, a stranger I barely knew his death had made me cry as hard as when Raven died. His death was done by a horrible and unreasonable attack by one of the aliens and with one look at the man before him as he slowly died, Kurt began to feel the rage he never thought he could obtain. Kurt never knew this man but what made him so angry for his death was those words that he had told him: “My kid used to be a fan”, these words resonated to Kurt and to me too. That fact that we only know he has a child and nothing else. We soon start to fill in the holes in his story, whether he is married or a single father with his child, but whatever it is the most tragic moment has to be that this child must grow up to never have a chance to see their father again. That the kid must now face the truth that whether s/he must either live without a parent or have no father to love them. This nameless man was just doing his job and like the many others who died before him, he wasn’t even expecting to die that day. All he was trying to do was protect the city and to me, he was the hero. He didn’t need to have a power or be a superhero because he at least tried to save those he wanted to save. For his kid.

[driverpicksthemooseic]

Shit, remember how I said I had the mighty need for the “quick we need to kiss so the bad guys get off our trail” trope? Remember how I said I’d probably end up writing it myself? I, uh, I did that. Here you go. AO3 link here. Original prompt here. Fic text under the cut.

"Listen," says Fowler, "I'm not sure where the Department stands on employment rights for plastic people now you've had your little movement, but I'll be damned if I'm going to lose a good team." He throws a file on the table. "If anyone asks, this didn't happen. That said, we have suspicious activity at the Eden Club. You had... success, by a measure of the word, there previously, so I'm sending you two in again. Keep a low profile. Don't fuck it up."

"What sort of suspicious activity?" Connor asks.

"It's all written right there. Read it yourself and get the fuck out of my office, I've got mountains of paperwork to file to keep you here. Officially, you're not on active duty. Unofficially, I expect results. Investigate the club ASAP and get back to me with something useful."

Hank huffs. "It's all in the file?"

"That's what I said."

"I know what the fuck you said," Hank snaps, and walks out, leaving Connor standing awkwardly in Fowler's space, facing down a spectacularly unhappy expression.

"Is there any pertinent information not included in the file?" He resists the urge to fiddle with something, anything. As a Deviant, he has a lot of irrational needs such as this.

"Are your audio receptors as broken as your personality matrix?" Fowler waves him away. "Get to work."

Quietly, Connor slips out the door.

***

The files are spread out on their shared desk when Connor makes it back. Surprisingly, Hank looks pleased, rifling through them with an uncharacteristic gentleness. Connor raises an eyebrow. "I haven't had anything fucking normal to do in this station for ages," Hank clarifies. "No Deviants, no freak murders, just a group of assholes harassing sex workers." He shrugs. "Par for the fucking course."

"They're clients of the establishment?"

"New ones. They keep shoehorning themselves into other people's rooms, apparently. Why bother renting out all the VIP rooms in the club when there are only a few of you?"

Connor blinks. "They have a lot of money and time?"

"No," Hank says. "You haven't been in the Department long enough, I guess. This is Red Ice smuggling. Textbook." He grins. "Fuckers are stupid enough to disregard the new 'don't destroy our employees' policy. Normally, no-one would give a shit, but as soon as they start breaking rules..."

"They could be facing murder charges," Connor extrapolates.

"Not that they would stick," Hank mutters. "It's an easy enough job. You shouldn't have to put anything in your mouth." He pauses, winces. "Anyway."

"How long has this been going on?"

"A few days." Hank sighs. "Not long enough to set up anything substantial, but if we can get a lead on their organisation..."

"You think they aren't acting alone?" It's true Connor doesn't yet know enough about the city to make leap judgements, but it's seemed so far like dog eat dog. Nobody seems eager to rely on each other. Then again, with the promise of enough pay...

"Too risky for a solo effort. No, they've got someone watching their back."

"You want to infiltrate the ring?"

Hank gives him a sharp look. "You don't?"

"That's not what I was implying." Connor crosses his arms, a gesture he seems to have picked up from somewhere he can't remember. Just like the line between Deviant and Machine, his mannerisms have slowly blurred further and further out of the realm of CyberLife's programming. "I just want to be sure. We're going to need trackers. And a distraction in order to secure them."

"Ideas?"

"It's situational," Connor admits, sheepish. "I don't recommend fighting them. We shouldn't bring attention to ourselves or Fowler may have our positions terminated."

"Fair enough." Suddenly, Hank's placing something in his palm. Rounded, slightly warmed by the heat of Hank's body, engraved, solid. A coin. His coin. "Let's get to work and bring these bastards down."

***

The Eden Club has changed by exactly nothing save a sign outlining the new company policy. The music still drowns out the obscene noises drifting from the VIP rooms, booming bass and droning indecipherable lyrics. Connor doesn't particularly feel he's developed an extensive musical taste, but it's enough to realise he much prefers Hank's metal to pounding club music.

Beautiful men and women grind against poles, dollar bills tucked into the wastebands of revealing lingerie. Workers pose enticingly in glass cases, untouchable and all the more tantalising for it. Or so Connor imagines. After seeing the fear in the eyes of the couple they'd intercepted last time, he can't really appreciate the view.

"The Department should cover the price this time," Connor offers, gesturing to an android off to the far right. Outwardly, she's perfectly composed, but he can see the way her pulse is jumping. Every so often, her eyes dart to the side, frantic.

Hank groans. "I'm making you open your own account after this. I'm not raising any more alarms with my credit company."

Connor approaches the woman slowly, transmitting his credentials over their shared neural net. Immediately, her simulated breathing eases. "I figure you guys are investigating the assholes who've come in every day since Monday," she says. She holds out a hand for Connor to take. "Here, take a look. They've been scaring the shit out of the other customers and harassing my colleagues."

They link, and Connor observes the perpetrators, three men, ranging from 6'1 to 6'4, two brunette, one blonde, stomping through the club, banging on doors and yelling over the din. One has a distinctive tattoo on his right temple, a CyberLife logo dripping blue blood. Possible android prejudice? It would explain the casual disregard of the new management. It certainly makes a statement in an android-populated strip club. He describes the men, and the tattoo, to Hank.

"That's just fucking obnoxious," Hank says. "Thanks for the info," he tells the worker, and turns back to Connor. "Let's check out the rooms. Could be they've hidden something there already."

"Hey," says the android. "Haven't you been here before?"

"No," Hank grits out, at the same time as Connor's swift, "Yes."

"Nothing to be ashamed of, Lieutenant," Connor whispers. Hank makes quickly for the nearest door.

***

The room is closed-in and smells unpleasantly of sex. The walls seem undamaged, and the floor is solid concrete under a garish heart-shaped rug. No obvious hiding places, but they could be intending to run deals straight out of pocket. "Anything?" Hank asks.

"Nothing I can see outright."

"What about the bed?"

Connor kneels down, brings a hand to the sheets. As expected, there's residue. He opens his mouth, starts to bring his fingers to his lips. "Jesus Christ," Hank cuts in, almost startling him. That's a new feeling.

"What?" Connor looks up, perplexed.

"No licking shit. I don't need DNA profiles of every jackass getting a happy ending here, right in the very fucking air I'm breathing."

Connor shrugs. He can't contract human diseases, but Hank's discomfort is understandable. "From surface analysis, I read Thirium, semen-"

"I don't need a play-by-play either," Hank starts, grimacing, but Connor holds up a hand.

"There's also Red Ice."

"Okay," Hank says. "Okay, that's a start. At least it means people aren't afraid to shoot up in here. Prime environment to run a business."

Connor begins to nod, but is interrupted by a loud banging. "Open up! Open the fuck up before we open for you!"

Hank pales. "Is that-?"

"The voice profiles match."

Shit. Connor's processors go into overtime. He could fight, but it's not a tactically sound decision. If they blow their cover, the operation is compromised, and the dealers will change locations. It could be ages before they pick up the scent again. They could hide, but the underside of the bed probably couldn't fit them both. The lighting isn't quite dim enough to hide their forms either way. Think. What reason would they have to be here?

Oh. Oh, shit.

"Hank," Connor starts. Not Lieutenant, just Hank. Hank gives him a baffled stare. "This is the only method with a high probability of success, so please go along with it."

Naturally, the words don't register, but Connor doesn't have time to explain. Instead, he begins to strip, quickly and efficiently. They're in plain clothes, no badges, nothing that would indicate they were here for anything more than a good time. For the first time, Connor finds himself thanking Fowler. But not for long, because they're here in the first place.

Hank looks horrified, and Connor has a tenth of a second to maybe feel a little offended before he climbs into Hank's lap. On instinct, Hank's hands go to his hips, steadying him. Something dark and heated flips in Connor's stomach. He doesn't think about it. He can't think about it. Cautiously, he lowers his mouth onto Hank's neck and sucks. He has no frame of reference. This is beyond even Deviant subroutines.

Hank's breath hitches. His heartrate skyrockets. "Wha-?" Connor puts two fingers over Hank's lips and continues to nip and lick at his neck, other hand going to the buttons on his shirt.

"We're coming in! Time's up. Room's ours now." Connor looks up, briefly. Three buttons undone. "You can fuck your pretty little twink elsewhere, old man." Four buttons.

"What the fuck, man?" Hank says. His voice is gravelly, breathless, lower than Connor's ever heard it. "I paid good money for this lay."

"And we paid better money. Get out."

"Whatever. Fucking pricks," Hank growls. He gets up, guiding Connor out of the room, hand on the small of his back. Why won't Connor's pulse calm? The situation is under control.

Hank elbows them out of the way, pushing violently out of the door. Nobody but an android could possibly sense the tracker he places in the head dealer's jacket pocket. Connor takes a moment to look at them, wide-eyed, pulling their attention away from Hank's exit.

"I'll pull your pump regulator still beating out of your chest if you don't leave right the fuck now. Don't make me count to three."

"Okay," Connor replies, voice soft and demure. He could incapacitate them here and now. One swift blow to the side of the head.

"C'mon," Hank says, ahead of him. Connor rushes out to the slamming sound of the door behind him. They've already won. "Mission accomplished."

Faintly, Connor notices Hank's heartbeat is still racing, hummingbird fast. Odd, he thinks. Must be the adrenaline of a new case.

[iamgonesoseeya]

Imagine if Avery gets sick, and Hank (while expecting his second child) cares for her, not caring if he could get sick too

Connor is out on a stake out mission at the time, so when a high pitch cry shatters the silence of the house, it’s Hank’s sole duty to answer the call. He’s not sleeping too well since entering his second trimester anyway, but he’s absolutely exhausted it hurts to drag himself out of bed. Sumo is at his side in a flash, just like when he was last pregnant, and together they enter Avery’s room. The little girl is clutching her pillow to her chest, eyes streaming with tears, and her face flushes tomato red. She’s getting big but not too big that Hank can’t still pick her up in his arms.

She wraps her self around him and whimpers into his shoulder as he carries her to his bed. The whole day had been about her - Hank making soup, taking her temperature, running a bath, wrapping her up, holding her hair and rubbing her back when she threw up - and that wasn’t going to change after dark. Hank would give up his arms and legs to assure Avery had good health. When he puts her down, she takes his pregnancy pillow and cuddles up to it, still sniffling pitifully. Hank sits beside her and strokes her hair back.

“I wish I could take it all away, baby girl. You just have a tummy bug. It’ll pass.”

She looks up at him with bright, glassy eyes and says “Won’t you get sick being with me?” To which Hank laughs.

“I would do anything for you, okay? Getting sick to help you feel better is a small price to pay, trust me.”

“What about the baby?” Her eyes fall to his belly for a second, tucked away behind the baggy layers of his top. She shrugs, still playing with her hair delicately.

“Don’t you worry about the baby. Now let’s settle down for bed!” He shuffles in to get under the covers and opens his arm up for her to come in, which she willingly does. Sumo, taking advantage while Connor’s away, jumps on the bed and sleeps at their feet, more than happy to watch over them all.

Hank kisses Avery on the forehead and holds her close while she tries to sleep. It’s hard, and she wakes up a number of times to cry or vomit, but Hank promptly does the clean up work he is more than happy to do for his little girl.

And miraculously to his and Connor’s surprise (and gratitude), he doesn’t end up getting sick at all! Avery destroys their sheets when she throws up down them, but at least Hank wasn’t throwing up anymore than he already had!

[newstfionline]

What 52,000 Percent Inflation Can Do to a Country

By Brook Larmer, NY Times magazine, Nov. 1, 2018

I walked into the empty restaurant in Managua carrying a backpack stuffed with cash, thick stacks of Nicaraguan córdobas bound by rubber bands. The waiter, as expected, asked me to hand over the entire stash. It may have looked like an illicit transaction. But this was Nicaragua, in 1990, at the end of its war with the American-trained contra rebels, and I was only trying to buy a meal before my money lost its value. A decade of guerrilla war and deficit spending had whipped up a maelstrom of hyperinflation and shortages. Only two items on the menu were available, and prices had doubled in a matter of weeks. With inflation surging past 13,000 percent annually, the restaurant now demanded payment upfront--to ensure that the staff had enough time to tally it. As I ate my rice and beans, two waiters at another table counted every bill. I finished before they did, even though the meal--and all those millions of córdobas--added up to less than $10.

Hyperinflation is a mercurial phenomenon, a rupture that occurs when a government persistently spends (or prints) money that it doesn’t have, and the public loses confidence in the process. The distortions that emerge--like the backpack full of soon-to-be-worthless cash--can seem absurd, even laughable. Yet there is nothing amusing about the damage that hyperinflation can inflict on the lives of people and nations. “If you can’t trust the money the government issues, then you can’t trust anything,” says Steve Hanke, a professor of applied economics at Johns Hopkins University and a leading expert on hyperinflation (which he has defined as 50 percent monthly inflation sustained for at least 30 days). Hanke has studied the 58 cases of hyperinflation that have been recorded, from Germany’s Weimar Republic to the episode I witnessed in Nicaragua, each one an earthquake that caused people to lose faith in the very foundation--the value of money--on which their lives depended.

The newest addition to the ignominious list, and a cause for alarm in Washington, is the crisis in Venezuela. Even with the world’s most-abundant oil fields, Venezuela has mismanaged its way to economic disaster. Hyperinflation and its common companion, chronic shortages of food and medicine, have impoverished almost all of the country’s 31 million people. Nine out of 10 Venezuelans do not earn enough money to buy sufficient food, according to a recent survey. Over all, Venezuelans have lost an average of 24 pounds each. Malaria is on the rise, as is crime. Those who can are getting out: More than 2.3 million Venezuelans have fled the country, including more than half of the nation’s doctors.

The situation is still out of control. Venezuela’s economy shrank by 35 percent between 2013 and 2017, and economists forecast another 18 percent drop in 2018. Oil production, crippled by the lack of maintenance and investment, fell in July to its lowest point in nearly seven decades. According to Hanke, the rate of inflation over the last 12 months was 52,000 percent. The chaos poses a risk for the entire region. “Venezuela has sparked the most serious economic, humanitarian and political crisis in the Americas in decades,” says the Brazilian economist Monica de Bolle, the director of Latin American studies at the Johns Hopkins University School for Advanced International Studies. “There has never been a crisis quite like this in the region, and we’ve had plenty.”

Nearly a century ago, Vladimir Lenin was quoted in The New York Times saying that hyperinflation was “the simplest way to exterminate the very spirit of capitalism.” If a country were flooded with high face-value notes untethered to anything of real value, he reasoned, “men will cease to covet and hoard [money] so soon as they discover it will not buy anything, and the great illusion of the value and power of money, on which the capitalist state is based, will have been definitely destroyed.”

Lenin’s dark musings seemed almost prophetic in the jittery aftermath of World War I. Weimar Germany had gambled, badly, in financing its losing war effort with borrowed funds. Buried in debt and forced, in 1921, to pay reparations to the victorious Allies, Germany printed bank notes and ignited the most infamous bout of hyperinflation. By late 1923, prices were doubling roughly every three and a half days, and at one point a single American dollar was worth 6.7 trillion German marks. An even more severe hyperinflation followed the end of World War II, when Hungary printed notes of ever-higher value to finance its recovery. The fastest-ever recorded hyperinflation resulted: At its peak in July 1946, prices doubled every 15 hours.

War has often played a catalytic role in hyperinflation, but it rarely acts alone. In the early 1990s, the phenomenon stalked countries in Eastern Europe (Yugoslavia, Bosnia-Herzegovina, Armenia) that were confronting wars and the fall of the Soviet Union. A decade later in Zimbabwe, despite a long slide in agricultural output, Robert Mugabe’s regime printed money to pay the bloated bureaucracy and to line its own pockets. By the time Mugabe declared inflation illegal in 2007, people had lost belief in their currency. Within a year, inflation shot up to 79.6 billion percent, so high that even the government’s $100 trillion bills became useless souvenirs soon after they were printed.

Hyperinflation is not, as some might assume, just inflation gone bad. It’s a different beast altogether, driven by politics and psychology as much as economics. A government’s decision to continue spending (or printing money) far beyond its means is political, whether done to finance war, win an election or assuage its populace. Such monetary incontinence, unchecked, leads to a spiral of food shortages, price hikes and currency devaluations. Those hit hardest are not the rich (whose wealth is in property, stocks and commodities) but the middle class, which depends on local-currency salaries, savings and pensions whose value is siphoned off by hyperinflation.

No conflict or natural calamity can be blamed for Venezuela’s descent into chaos. Its leaders did this on their own. With proven oil reserves of 300 billion barrels--surpassing even Saudi Arabia’s--Venezuela should be rich. But the country’s early oil boom, led largely by foreign companies, yielded only spotty development. When Hugo Chávez won the presidency in 1998, he vowed to give power and wealth to the people. Buoyed by a sustained rise in oil prices, he nationalized companies and funneled oil revenues into welfare programs and food imports. Poverty and unemployment rates fell by half. When oil prices cratered in 2008, Chávez kept spending as if nothing had changed. Since his death in 2013, his successor, Nicolás Maduro, has doubled down on Chávez’s policies, even as he has violently repressed the opposition. In May, Maduro claimed a re-election victory after polling marred by fraud--a result that was not recognized by most countries in the Americas.

Venezuela now finds itself isolated, like a virus contained. In 1990, three South American countries--Peru, Argentina and Brazil--were in the throes of hyperinflation. Venezuela’s case doesn’t look contagious, but it could still have destabilizing impacts on the region. The millions of refugees flooding into neighboring countries are already sparking a backlash. In Brazil, where army troops have been deployed to control the border, the presidential candidate Jair Bolsonaro has used the Venezuelan migrants to fuel his Trump-like anti-immigrant campaign--and warn against leftist populism.

Maduro has made only halfhearted efforts at reform. In August, he lopped five zeros off the bolívar and introduced a new currency tied to the “petro” cryptocurrency. The move has had no impact, in part because the petro isn’t traded. But there has been one unexpected result: As people turn to credit cards or bank transfers for even small transactions, Venezuela has accidentally become a nearly cashless society.

Normally, a country facing insolvency would turn to the I.M.F. for a bailout. But Venezuela broke off relations with the I.M.F. in 2007 and has turned to China instead. For the past decade, China has kept Maduro’s bankrupt regime afloat with more than $50 billion in loans. In September, Maduro traveled to Beijing and received several billion dollars more of credit to boost oil production and double oil exports to China. “We are taking the first steps into a new economic era,” he said.

A new era isn’t likely to begin as long as Maduro remains in power. He has shown no interest in taking steps that might restore economic balance, like cutting spending and tying the bolívar to a solid foreign currency. Washington murmurs about regime change. But the biggest threat to Maduro now may be a series of civil cases in American courts against Citgo. The Venezuela-owned company is the regime’s biggest generator of hard currency, the only asset creditors can go after. If these cases succeed in claiming damages for being nationalized by the Chávez regime, Maduro’s main lifeline could be cut off. “If the money disappears,” de Bolle says, “so does his support, and the regime crumbles.” Only then, it seems, will Venezuelans be able to escape a nightmare in which they can’t trust the money in their hands.

[argyle-s]

THE SHAPE OF THINGS TO COME CHAPTER 26/38

Rating: Mature

Read at Ao3

Start at the Beginning

Kara gets interrupted during a negotiation, Maggie considers whether or not she wants to try to start a relationship with Alex, and Cat finds someone on her balcony.

Notes:   I promised you a longer chapter today, and here it is.

Thanks to @ifourmindbeso for her great work as a beta. Any remaining mistakes are entirely my own.

Chapter 26 - Prices

It was just past nine when Kara dropped out of the sky at a hanger near the long-closed Otto Bender International Airport. She wasn’t wearing the suit that day. Instead, she was dressed in her off-duty outfit again. Blue Leather pants worn over red boots, a blue sleeveless silk shirt, and a red leather jacket, with the House of El Coat of Arms embossed on it. This suit hadn’t made it out to the media. Not yet. It would happen eventually, she knew that. But there was a reason she’d worn that outfit, and not the suit. She wasn’t there as Supergirl, champion of National City and Earth. She was at the warehouse as Kara Zor-El, and the distinction was important, if she was going to do the things she needed to do.

She spotted the man waiting for her as she touched down. He was Bedoreeni, unless she missed her guess. Easy enough for them to pass for human as long as they wore dark sunglasses.

“My Lady,” he said.

“Marcosus?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said. “I was told you were seeking certain goods, and that your House would pay well for them. Is this true?”

“Very well,” Kara said. “The House of El has always been known for our generosity towards our allies.”

“I am pleased to hear this,” he said. “I apologize that I am unable to offer proper courtesies before we begin, but on this world, it would attract undue notice.”

“My friend, there is no apology necessary,” she said. “If you have what I need, that is courtesy enough to gain the thanks of my House.”

He nodded and headed towards one of the small doors of the hanger, and Kara followed. When she stepped inside, she stopped and gasped.

“Is that what I think it is?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said. “A Thanagarian Frigate, my Lady.”

It was in pieces, and had obviously been picked clean for salvage, but the hull lines were unmistakable.

“How much Nth Metal?” she asked.

“A thousand metric tons, My Lady,” he said. “The whole vessel weighs close to forty-two thousand tons, but much of that is lesser metals. The Nth metal I sell for ten dollars a gram.”

It was more than she ever expected to find. Probably more than she would need. But the surplus would open up possibilities. She did a bit of quick math in her head. Ten billion dollars for the lot. The money wouldn’t be a problem. The AI they’d dropped in the past before traveling to Krypton meant that she’d arrived a year ago with almost fifteen billion waiting for her. Once she’d got Konex up and running, that amount had grown by a factor of a hundred. Most of it was tied up in her long-term plans but shaking loose ten billion would be easy enough. The problem was moving ten billion dollars without attracting attention.

“How much for the whole thing?” she asked.

She couldn’t see his eyes behind the sunglasses, but she could tell she’d surprised him.

“I did not realize you needed that much, My Lady,” he said.

“I’m not sure even this is enough my friend, but I would like to purchase the entire wreck, if it’s within my means. Even the lesser metals will have some value.”

She could tell he was worried, and with reason. It was possible he could take her in a fight, but it would take more luck than he could reasonably count on. If she decided to take what she wanted without paying, he would be in trouble.

“Be at ease, friend. The House of El trades fairly, and I swear to you, I will only take what I can pay for and what you are willing to sell.”

He relaxed, visibly, then turned to the wreck. “Your words please me, My Lady. I will remember your generosity and speak honestly with you.”

She nodded.

“The Nth Metal is worth the price I gave, in small amounts, but the truth is, I cannot move the wreck myself and there is no one I trust to move it for me. I brought you here only because of who you are. The name of the House of El is still remembered and your cousin has proven it is still a name associated with honor. Even you, daughter of Alura, have shown yourself to be a friend to those like me. As much as I would like to pretend otherwise, the wreck will be discovered by your DEO sooner, rather than later. The demolition of this airport is exacted to begin in the middle of next year. At that time, I would lose anything I haven’t already sold, and there are not a lot of buyers for Nth Metal. If I tried to approach the government here, they would simply take it for themselves and pay nothing. The same for the few human companies that would understand what I offer.”

He looked at the ship, then at her. “Five Hundred Million, and the whole wreck is yours,” he said.

Kara could see that he was expecting her to talk him down. In Bedoreeni custom, it was traditional to begin negotiations with the highest you could imagine someone paying, and for the buyer to begin by low balling.

“The House of El is generous, Marcosus. We will pay your price and add this, as well. The House of El owes you a favor. I will pass word to my cousin. You may come to either of us, and we will honor the debt.”

“You are too kind, My Lady,” he said.

“I’ve been told that more than once, my friend. Now, do you have an account I can transfer the money into?”

“I do most of my business in cash, My Lady.”

“I understand. Konex,” Kara said, taking out her phone, and pressing the home button. “Konex, I need you here.”

Konex appeared in a flash of light. “Yes, Lady Kara?”

“This is Marcosus. He is owed a favor by the House. Make note of it.”

“Of course, Lady Kara.”

“He is selling us goods necessary to the future of the house. The price agreed on is half a billion US Dollars. However, Marcosus does not have suitable banking arrangements. Remedy this to his satisfaction, and arrange to have the contents of this building collected and stored securely, and then-”

She was cut off by the sound of the text alert she’d set for Lucy. She quickly unlocked her phone and pulled up the message.

‘Dad headed to work to collect new guests,’ was all the text said.

“Konex, suit, now,” she said, then turned to Marcosus. “Please, forgive me-“

“Go, My Lady,” he said. “I understand.”

When Kara turned back around, Konex was holding one of her suits. A burst of super-speed and she was suited up, and out the door. Her lift off shattered the pavement, and the sonic booms echoed through National City for miles.

At three times the speed of sound, the thirty-mile trip from where she’d been to the DEO base outside of the city took less than a minute, but by the time she arrived, things were already starting to get ugly. Hank and Alex, along with thirty DEO agents were on the surface, facing down General Lane’s men over the barrels of assault rifles and pistols.

Kara didn’t want to see anyone on either side hurt, except maybe Lane himself, so she came in hot, pouring on the deceleration, but not stopping. Using a move she’d learned from Barry, she zipped through the ranks of Lane’s men at super-speed, dropping magazines, ejecting cartridges, popping takedown pins and stripping uppers off lowers, before coming to a stop next to J’onn and dropping out of superspeed.

Lane’s men all collectively flinched as they realized that their weapons had been field stripped in between one breath and the other. Even Lane’s eyes widened as he realized how drastically the situation had shifted.

“Sorry I’m late, Director Henshaw,” Kara said.

“Not a problem, Supergirl,” J’onn said. “In fact, I’d say you’re right on time.”

“And I’d say she has no business here,” Lane said.

“Well, fortunately, General Lane, you don’t make that decision,” J’onn said.

“As a matter of fact, I do. I’m here to take possession of the Fort Rozz prisoners who surrendered last night, and Supergirl is interfering with that.”

“On whose authority?” J’onn asked.

“By the authority of the Joint Chiefs of Staff of the United States Military, and the Secretary of Defense,” Lane replied.

“Really,” Kara said. She reached down and pulled her phone out of her boot. “You won’t mind if I give the Joint Chiefs a call then? Or, you know what, let’s take this right to the top.” Kara pressed the home button on her phone. “Call Olivia,” she said. The command, which she’d set up with Konex over a year ago, initiated a series of protocols the AI had set up, which first accessed any number of secure systems and got the President’s exact location, which at that moment happened to be the oval office, and routed the call to the nearest phone, which in this particular case happened to be the red one sitting on President Marsdin’s desk.

“President Marsdin,” came a voice which echoed across the field in the desert, making Lane’s eyes go even wider.

“Hey, Madam President. This is Supergirl. You’re on Speaker. I’ve got Director Henshaw, Agent Danvers, and General Sam Lane here with me.”

“Interesting crowd,” came the response in a carefully neutral tone. “Any chance you’re going to tell me how you got this particular number?”

“Oh, dear… Did the call come through on the Red Phone?” Kara asked.

“Yes, it did.”

“Sorry about that,” Kara said. “Didn’t mean to scare you. When I set up the protocol, I figured I’d only be using it in an emergency and designed it to route to whatever phone was physically closest to you.”

“Maybe you should call my secretary sometime, and we can see about setting up something a bit more official.”

“That’s probably a good idea for next time, but I’m afraid this isn’t a social call, ma’am.”

“I gathered that when you described who was with you. How can I help?”

“Well, ma’am, per your instructions, last night, I contacted General In-Ze, and as agreed, she surrendered to Director Henshaw and the DEO. Altogether, she brought in ninety-five former prisoners from Fort Rozz, including the Coluan Indigo and Astra’s husband Non. At the General’s recommendation, Non and Indigo are being held as Enemy Combatants, but the rest are settling in the temporary residences we built in preparation for the surrender.”

“That’s good news,” Marsdin said.

“Yes, I thought so, until General Lane showed up this morning with the intention of taking them into military custody.”

“I’m sorry, what did you just say?” Marsdin asked.

“When I arrived at the DEO this morning, General Lane’s men were here, with guns pointed at the DEO agents on scene, and the stated intention of taking all the Fort Rozz prisoners into military, rather than DEO custody. I disarmed General Lane’s men in order to prevent any unfortunate accidents, and then called you. General Lane did mention that he’s here acting on orders from the Joint Chiefs and the Secretary of Defense and I have to admit, President Marsdin, that left me a little upset. I thought we had reached an understanding last week as to how the prisoners would be handled.”

“Supergirl,” Marsdin said.

“Yes, Madam President?”

“Please take me off speaker and pass the phone to General Lane.”

“Of course, Madam President.” Kara touched the screen, switching the call from speaker to normal, and held the phone out to General Lane, who’d gone white as a sheet. He reached out, and took the phone, raising it to his ear.

“Yes, Madam President?” he said, and those were the last words he spoke for the next twenty-three minutes, after which he passed the phone back to Kara with a simple, “She wants to speak to you.”

Kara raised the phone to her ear. “Supergirl speaking,” she said.

“Kara,” Marsdin said, “you have my apologies.”

“I’d like to say it’s okay, but you know I can’t.”

“I know, but I promise you, this will never happen again.”

“I will hold you to that,” Kara said before hanging up the phone. She looked at General Lane. “I think you’re done here.”

Maggie dropped down on one of the bar stools at Darla’s and waved at M’gann, getting a smile in return. Without asking, M’gann reached into the beer cooler and took out a bottle of Blue Moon. She turned slightly and Carl, the other bartender, blew on the bottle for a second, chilling it an extra few degrees before M’gann carried it over.

“Perks of having a Glacian on staff,” M’gann said as she used her thumb to pop the cap of the beer.

“You know that’s kind of invasive, right?” Maggie said as she reached for the bottle.

“I am what I am,” M’gann said. “I can’t help it if you’re broadcasting right now.”

“If that’s your way of telling me to shut up, I’d love to, but I don’t know how,” Maggie said.

“You should get Kara to give you lessons,” M’gann said. “She’s got the quietest mind I’ve ever seen.”

“You know Kara?” Maggie said.

“She’s been in,” M’gann said. “Good tipper. Bit showy for my taste.”

“I thought Martians couldn’t read Kryptonians.”

“We can’t read them, but normally, we get a sense of presence, a hint of emotion. It’s like static on a radio. Not from her though. Silent as a corpse. She’s definitely had training.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Maggie said.

“So, what’s got you all wound up,” M’gann asked. “You’re not usually a screamer.”

“No, but I could make you one,” Maggie replied.

M’gann laughed and shook her head. “God, it’s a wonder anyone puts up with you.”

“You know you love me,” Maggie said.

“I wouldn’t go that far,” M’gann said. “I mean, you’re cute, but you’re a little young for me.”

“You’re three hundred and change. Everyone is young for you.”

“You begin to see my problem. So, my young Padawan, what troubles you?”

“It’s a long story,” Maggie said, “but like any good one, it’s about a girl.”

“Tall, auburn haired and gorgeous?” M’gann asked with a knowing smile.

“Yeah,” Maggie said.

“Closet cases are always trouble,” M’gann said.

“That’s not the issue,” Maggie said. “I mean, it’s an issue, but… Ah, crap. It’s complicated, and you’re gonna think I’m nuts.”

M’gann stared at her for a moment, then turned towards Carl. “Hold things down for a few?” Carl nodded, and M’gann walked through the bar. “Come on Sawyer. Let’s grab a booth.”

Maggie picked up her beer and followed M’gann over to a booth in the corner that was both empty, and away from everyone else. She dropped down opposite her friend and took another sip from her beer.

“So, spill it,” M’gann said.

“Okay, this is going to sound crazy,” Maggie said. “But let’s say you met someone, and you really, really liked them.”

“Oh, the horror,” M’gann said.

“Shut up and listen,” Maggie said. “So, you meet this person. You hit it off. Things are going really, really well. And then, someone who can see the future… Not someone who claims they can see the future, but someone who you know for absolute certain can *actually* see the future tells you that if you choose to pursue things, you and this person you like are going to fall in love and get married.”

“In that unlikely event, I think I’d probably be pretty happy. I mean, love is a good thing, right?”

“Yeah,” Maggie said. “Now, suppose that this person who can tell the future tells you there’s this one thing you and this person you like are going to fight about. And it’s not a little issue. In fact, it’s kind of huge. Like, say, she wants kids, and you have never even considered having kids. But this person won’t tell you how the argument turns out.”

M’gann stared at her for a long time, and Maggie concentrated on making her mind as blank as possible, which for Maggie basically meant playing ‘One Week’ by the Barenaked Ladies over and over again in her head. She could see M’gann’s face flicker in annoyance.

“Well, at least it’s not a Katie Perry song,” M’gann said, making Maggie smile. M’gann sighed. “Look, Maggie, species that can actually see the future are few and far between. Those that can, don’t advertise, and generally don’t share information unless there’s something in it for them. So, even if, in this ‘hypothetical’, we were to take what you were told at face value, you have to understand that these people only see *probable* futures.”

Maggie nodded. “Okay, assume that in this hypothetical, all of that has been taken into account, and the information is absolutely legit. What do you do?”

“Well,” M’gann said, clearly still unhappy, “I suppose I would step back and consider *why* I never wanted kids. I’d also have to consider what exactly does ‘she wants kids’ mean. Does she want to carry the kids? Does she want you to carry them? Would adoption be enough? If she’s willing to adopt, does she want a baby, or would she adopt an older kid? Does she want one kid, or a bunch? Then, once you’ve worked all that out, you need to figure out how you feel about each of those options.

“Look, Maggie, the last time I went on a date, Louis the XIV was King of France, so I’m a little short on firsthand experience, but what I do know is that relationships only work when you are willing to compromise. Figure out what it is you can live with, and when she brings the subject up, lay it out for her, and figure out where she’s willing to compromise. Then, go from there.”

Maggie nodded, giving M’gann a big smile, because she’d given Maggie a way to tackle what felt like an overwhelming problem. “Thanks,” she said. “I think that’s just what I needed to hear.”

“Good,” M’gann said. “But remember what I said about people who can see the future. That sort of thing *always* ends up costing somebody something. People get shot over things like that. Usually in the head.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

Maggie watched M'gann get up and walk away, admiring the view the tight jeans the Martian was wearing gave her. She blushed and looked away when M'gann gave a little wiggle that proved she knew Maggie had been looking.

She took another sip of her beer and thought about what M'gann had said. She'd never wanted kids. It just wasn't something on her radar. She could see the argument though. Getting into a relationship and getting the kids thing sprung on her. She could see it because it had happened before.

An argument over kids with Emily that just would not end. The more Emily pressed, the more Maggie had dug in. It had gone on for weeks, until one night there was a screaming match. Emily had told her to leave. Maggie had taken it as a breakup, because ‘I can’t even look at you anymore. Just get the fuck out,' sounded pretty fucking final, and she'd done something stupid. She’d gone out and gotten plastered, and when Emily had let herself into Maggie’s apartment the next morning, Maggie had been curled up around Toby, which had been horribly enough, without the screaming match with Emily that had followed, which ended with her telling Maggie to go fuck herself. The phone call with Toby later, where her former best friend expressed a similar sentiment.

Since then, Maggie had avoided thinking about the topic all together, because it brought up a lot of painful memories. Emily’s ‘you don’t deserve to be happy’ and Toby’s ‘you poison everything you touch’ and her father’s ‘you shamed me’.

It wasn’t hard to figure out what Kara was doing, either. The way she refused to tell Maggie how the argument ended was enough of a hint. Besides, she couldn’t imagine any version of herself that would consent to bringing a kid into the world in the middle of a war that was being lost. Of course, there was the possibility that she and Alex had picked up some stray. A little war orphan. Maggie had no trouble at all imagining that after all the stories she’d heard from Kara about the way Alex used to take care of her.

Had that been what the fight was about? Has she wanted to turn away some kid that Alex wanted to take in? She couldn’t see it. Not in the middle of a war zone, not with the world coming to an end. She looked around the bar and took in the people there. People she helped all the time. She liked helping people. Liked taking care of people.

So, what was it? Why did the idea of having kids bother her so much?

She thought back to the arguments with Emily. She’d been young and scared, because who wants to have kids when they are twenty-two? But she’d been frustrated more than anything. She’d just kept wondering over and over again why she wasn’t enough for anyone.

Maggie stopped dead, her hand suspended half way to her beer as the realization rolled over her of exactly what it was that had made her hate the idea so much. The feeling that she should be enough. Not that she didn’t like kids, not that she didn’t want to have to take care of someone, but the idea that someone would only want kids because she wasn’t enough for them.

Which, well, if not wanting kids was a deal breaker, was sort of true. Kind of. But Jesus, how fucked up was she to be jealous of the idea of kids?

Maggie picked up her beer and took a drink, deciding this particular bit of fucked up was something else she should thank her papá for. The problem was, knowing where to assign blame didn’t help her with the question at hand. She could safely assume that, in the other timeline, there were no kids. She could safely assume that, because in the other timeline, this had been a source of friction in an otherwise happy relationship. She wasn’t sure she bought that this was the only issue she and Alex ever fought about, but she suspected it was possible that it was the only thing that was a major, recurring issue. But she knew herself well enough to know that if she ever had a kid, no matter how that happened, she wouldn’t be resentful after the fact.

If she knew that though, knew that she’d love a kid if she had one, then what, really, was the issue? Was it the feeling that she would never be enough for someone? Was it all the other compromises she’d have to make? She loved being a cop, but that came with so many risks. Would she have to give that up? She’d fought so hard to be who she was, and she couldn’t help but wonder how much of that she’d have to give up for kids.

Maybe Kara was more right than she knew. She said what worked in that world might not work in this one. Maybe that was her and Alex. Maybe she was so broken that she could only be happy in an equally broken world. But she didn’t want that to be true. She wanted to be happy. She wanted to fall in love and get married and wake up next to Alex every morning.

“Shit,” she muttered to herself, as she realized how easily Alex’s name rolled through her head, and how true it was. Because it was Alex when she pictured it now. Alex had replaced the poorly-defined day dream she’d had for years. Maggie wanted to blame Kara for that, and probably should at least a little bit with the way Kara had spent months talking Alex up before they’d actually met, but if she believed what Kara told her about the other timeline, it wasn’t much different there.

She wanted Alex. She’d gone to see Kara because she wanted to make sure that Alex would want her too, because she already knew Alex rejecting her would hurt. Picturing a life, a future without Alex in it made her feel like she was choking.

She needed to talk to someone about this, and aside from M’gann, she could only think of one other person who might be able to give her the perspective she needed, so she took out her phone, pulled up her contacts, and found the one she wanted, hitting the call button.

“¡Hola, mija!”

Maggie smiled at the sound of the cheerful voice of her aunt Juanita on the other end of the line. “Hola, Tiá. You have time to talk?”

“For you, cariña, always. What do you need?” Juanita asked.

“I need some advice,” Maggie said.

“Oh, advice. That sounds serious,” Juanita replied. “What’s wrong, mija?”

“I met a girl,” Maggie said.

“Oh, I can see how that must be so horrible for you. However will you survive?”

Maggie laughed. “Tiá,” she said. “I’m serious!”

“So am I, mi amor. A young, attractive lesbian, meeting a beautiful, captivating woman. I know the torture will last for decades. You’ll be sitting there, in the house you’ve finished paying off, surrounded by your grandchildren, and she, your wife of thirty-five years, will be laying with her head in your lap, telling you how beautiful she thinks you are, and you’ll still be wondering if she means in a romantically, or if the dating and the marriage and the children and the finger banging and the comiendo la papaya were all just as friends.”

Maggie sighed. “You’ve been on Tumblr again haven’t you, Tiá?”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing. I’m forty-five, not dead. And there’s talk about rebooting Xena. I want to read all the fic when that happens.”

“I kind of hate that you know what fanfiction is,” Maggie said.

“Ay, cariña, be glad I do. If it wasn’t for Xena and Gabrielle, you might not have had an embarrassing lesbiana Tiá to take you in.”

“I’ll be sure to send Lucy Lawless a thank you note any day now.”

“Just don’t send her a toaster oven. I’m sure she has enough by now.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Maggie said.

“My point is, your generation did not invent Lesbian Sheeping. Gay chicas were standing around trying to figure out if they were into each other before either of us were born.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Maggie said, doing her best to keep from laughing.

“Now, Marguerita, tell me what’s troubling you,” Juanita said.

“I really, really like this girl, Tiá,” Maggie said. “The rent the U-Haul on the second date kind of kind of like.”

“Oh, mija. No wonder you are calling me. Is it your Kara, this girl you are talking about?”

“No, Tiá, it’s Kara’s hermana,” Maggie said. “Her name is Alex, and she’s... um... she’s... she’s amazing. Just so beautiful it hurts to look at her, and my heart starts pounding the moment she walks into the room, and all I can think of is how much I want to kiss her.”

“Oh, Marguerita, you have enfermo de amor.”

“Yeah,” Maggie said, a little wistfully. “I think I do.”

“Then what’s the problem, cariña? Does she not like you back?”

“I think she does,” Maggie said. “Or at least, I think she’s starting too. It’s just... she wants kids, Tiá, and I don’t know if I can do that.”

“Oh, pobrecita, you never have it easy, do you?” Juanita asked, sympathy pouring from every word.

“I think I got myself into this one,” Maggie said. “But I don’t know what to do, Tiá.”

“We’ve been here before, cariña. But, if you want a better ending this time, I think you need to ask yourself a question. Why does it bother you, the idea of children? Be truthful.”

Maggie took a deep breath, bracing herself for the answer she was afraid to give. “I always wondered why I wasn’t enough,” she said. “Why couldn’t I ever be enough for anyone?”

“Oh, mi corazón, it’s moments like this I dearly wish I could cut your papi’s heart out with a spoon,” Juanita said. “Listen to me, Marguerita. I never, in my life before you, dreamed that I would be a mother. Never wanted to be. And then, one day, my pendejo brother calls me, screaming at me that it’s my fault somehow that his daughter is gay. And I knew, as soon as he said it, what I had to do. I said to him, ‘if you cannot love your hija for who she is and be proud of her, you bring her to me, and I will be her madre.’ That’s why he brought you to me, mija. And when my novia found out that I had taken you in, she left me.”

Maggie had to swallow a lump in her throat before she could speak. “Oh, Tiá,” she said. “I didn’t know.”

“No, no, mija. I’m not telling you this because I want you to feel guilty. I’m telling you this, because I want you to understand, that in the sixteen years since I spoke those words, I have not regretted for a single moment. Not when your mami spit in my face. Not when your papi called me a marimacha. Not when your abuela called me, screaming, telling me I deserved to burn in hell. You have been the most wonderful part of my life, Marguerita. You are not just mi sobrina, you are mi hija, have always been enough for me. I love you so much, and I never want to see you in pain.

“Now, this Alex… if you want to be with her, then you need to ask yourself a difficult question. Is it that you don’t want children? Or is it that you are afraid that she won’t have enough love for you, and the children? If it’s the first, then however wonderful she is, she’s not the right woman for you. But if it’s the second, then ask yourself if that’s a reasonable fear? Do you really believe that she doesn’t have enough love to go around? If you do, then again, she is not the woman for you. You are easy to love, mi corazón, but I will not deny that you need a very great deal of it. All beautiful things do.”

“Gracias, Tiá,” Maggie said as she wiped tears from her face.

“Do you know what you are going to do, mija?” Juanita asked.

“Yes,” Maggie said. “I think I’m going to stop crying, and then I’m going to text the girl.”

“Good for you, mija! ¡Buena suerte con la chica!”

“Well, this is getting to be a habit,” Cat said.

Kara looked up from the glass of Scotch she’d been staring into, and smiled, just a bit. “Good evening, Miss Grant,” she said.

“You know, considering all the things we’re doing together, I think I can let you call me Cat,” she said.

The small smile on Kara’s face turned into a full-blown grin. “I’m still not telling you my name, Cat.”

“I had to try,” Cat said, no hint of apology on her face or in her voice. “Mind if I join you?”

“It’s your balcony,” Kara said, “but I would definitely enjoy the company.”

“Good to know,” Cat said as she sat down. “You have another glass?”

Kara nodded and reached down, picking up a second tumbler and setting it on the table. Then she used the same mold from the interview, and a puff of her freeze breath to make an ice ball for Cat’s glass, before pouring her a couple of fingers of the Ardbeg.

“That’s a handy trick,” Cat said, taking the glass.

“Yeah. I’m a big hit at parties,” Kara replied before taking a sip of her Scotch.

“Rough day?” Cat asked.

“Does it show?”

“Well, day drinking is usually a sign. Want to talk about it?”

Kara looked up at her for a moment, considering the questions and her own mixed emotions, and gave a tiny shrug. “If I didn’t, I probably would have remembered to check to see if you were still here before I borrowed your balcony.”

“That’s… probably a bit more self-awareness than I was expecting.”

“Well,” Kara said. “Someone I admire… Someone who’s spent a lot of time teaching me how to be better, once told me that the key is never lying to yourself about who you are, what you want, and what you can and cannot do.” Kara watched Cat’s face as she said it, and if she hadn’t known Cat as well as she did, she would have missed the shock on Cat’s face, because Cat had said those exact words to her, not long after she’d hired Kara.

“That sounds like good advice,” Cat said.

“Oh, she always gives good advice,” Kara said. “She’s a bit nosey though.”

“We all have our faults.”

Kara turned and looked out over the city, taking another sip of her scotch before she spoke again. “I locked one of the people I love most in the universe in a cage last night,” she said. She turned back to Cat. “It’s a very nice cage. It’s got a TV, a jacuzzi tub, meal service.”

“But it’s still a cage,” Cat said.

“And I locked her in it,” Kara said. “Because she’s a criminal. Because my mother, and my father, and my aunt and my uncle, and all the leaders of Krypton made her a criminal.”

“What happened?”

“Our world was dying… No, that’s not right. We were killing it. Oh, we had help. There were people out there, more than willing to push the knife in, but our arrogance, or hubris… We ignored the warning signs. Abused the gift Rao had given us. In our greed and avarice, we drove mines deep in to the core of our world. We did it without hesitation, without thought for the future. Jor-El realized what was happening, but Aunt Astra was the only one who would listen, and when Uncle Jor was too weak, too cowed by the word of the council to act, Astra gathered a group of followers. People she’d worked with over the years. Some of them believed her. Most of them, probably. I think a few just hated the Houses and the Council, not that I can blame them.”

“What they planned to do… It was horrible, and in the end, Krypton was already too far gone for it to make a difference. But they tried. They defied the council, they broke the law, and in the end, someone died. But at least they tried.”

Kara closed her eyes. She could feel the tears running down her face, the lump in her throat, and when she spoke, the way her lip quivered. “My mother, my father, my aunt and uncle… They did nothing. They stood back and let it happen. And I lost everything, Cat. My family, my home, my culture, my entire world. It was just wiped from the stars, and I saw it happen. I watched it. Thirty billion people died, and it was just me and Kal-El, and then, when I got here, he didn’t need me. He… He just abandoned me.”

She felt Cat’s arms slip around her, and pull her close, and she rested her head on Cat’s shoulder.

“Shhh…” Cat whispered.

Kara slipped her arms around Cat, holding her as tightly as she dared. “I’m sorry,” she said.

“It’s okay,” she said. “I’m here. Just let it out.”

“I talked her into surrendering. I begged her. I promised her she’d be safe.”

“Something happened?” Cat asked.

“General Lane tried to take them,” Kara said. “I stopped it, but if someone hadn’t warned me… I can’t lose Astra again,” Kara said. “I can’t.”

Cat reached up, stroking Kara’s hair. “We won’t let it happen,” she said. “I promise.”

Kara closed her eyes, leaning into Cat’s touch. She knew the promise was empty, that as powerful as Cat was, the forces aligned against them were nearly unstoppable, but it didn’t matter. Hearing Cat say it, she believed it, and she felt just a bit of the weight of fifty-three universes lift off her shoulders.

[lezliefaithwade]

Hitchhikers and Horror Movies

I was living in New York when one Sunday afternoon in late August a boyfriend suggested we go and see the newly remastered, Texas Chainsaw Massacre at a movie theatre on 42nd Street. It had recently been heralded as one of the most influential horror movies of all time, and as he was in the process of writing his own horror screenplay, it seemed only right to see what all the fuss was about.

It was a very hot day as we slipped into the darkened theatre. It smelled like wet pavement, stale popcorn and forgotten dreams. The floor was sticky from neglect. The whole interior reeked of resignation as though any minute the wrecking ball would tear through the ceiling and replace a bygone era with a GAP or a McDonalds.  There were probably no more than 20 of us oddballs sitting in the damp, musky building. I wondered what kind of person spends a Sunday afternoon watching slasher films? My boyfriend was a nice Jewish USC graduate currently studying playwrighting at Juilliard. He was the kind of guy who laughed easily and rarely lost his temper. I felt safe and at ease with him. A quick glance at the other patrons painted a somewhat different picture. It was obvious that I was the only female in an audience of men sitting alone waiting ominously for a slasher film to begin. I shifted uneasily in my seat.

“Did I mention I don’t really like horror movies?” I whispered to Bernie. “I scare easily.”

“No worries,” he said, “Just close your eyes over the gory bits.”

For anyone who has not seen The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, suffice it to say that the entire film is gory. It’s pretty implicit by the title words “chainsaw massacre”.

It’s been noted that the experience of watching a horror movie with someone from the opposite sex can become a catalyst for romantic bonding. Was that what Bernie had in mind that afternoon?

The lights dimmed, the movie began and within minutes I was on the floor with my head in the seat of the chair, mindless of whatever gross concoction I was kneeling upon. All I can tell you about plot is that some kids pick up a hitchhiker who cuts his hand with a switchblade. That was all I saw.

“I have to leave,” I said to Bernie. And being the great guy that he was, he escorted me out of the theatre and back into the real world. I breathed a sigh of relief, and spent the better part of the next week doing everything I could to forget what I had seen.

Horror movies and slasher films have always appealed to a broad audience. Consumers expect to be scared, disturbed, creeped out, disgusted, terrified. This is just the undesirable price one has to pay in anticipation of some other reward, such as the ultimate triumph over evil or the smug satisfaction of feeling safe while being afraid. Slasher films make strong commentaries on societal expectations. In other words, young women in particular are usually targeted by male antagonists with puritanical opinions on sexuality. That is, when any kind of motivation can even be found. The set-up goes something like this:

1. Some past event sets (the killer) upon a homicidal trajectory.

2. The killer targets a group of hedonistic youth.

3. Youths interact recreationally in an insular quotidian location.

4. The killer tracks the youths.

5. The antagonist kills some of the youths.

6. The remaining character(s) challenge(s) the killer.

7. The immediate threat posed by the killer is eliminated.

Bernie’s movie as I recall was titled Summer Stalk, or Hammer Slammer (something like that) and he had a passing relationship with the director Abel Ferrara who I recall meeting briefly and being unimpressed by at a party in New York. Bernie was a good writer, and it seemed entirely possible that he might actually sell this screenplay, so when school was finished we moved to Los Angeles.  Hollywood was a place so foreign to me and so at odds with my sensibilities that you may as well have dropped me onto the moon without a spacesuit and ordered me to survive. Even to this day my memories of L.A. are a compilation of avocado sandwiches, shark steaks, workout rooms, convertibles and endless conversations around film. I went from being a productive, enterprising intellectual young woman, to what can only be described as a “bimbo”. Glasses were replaced with contact lenses, hair was coiffed, clothes were fitted and shoes had a heel. Gone was the architecture, the history, the parks, the subway, convenient neighbourhoods with great second-hand book stores. Instead it had all been replaced by freeways, concrete, Stepford wives, alfalfa sprouts and sales pitches. I thought of going home, but I loved my boyfriend and wanted to be supportive. So, I sat on the sidelines in tightfitting Lycra and cheered him on.

On weekends, Bernie and I would drive to his father’s house in La Costa, Ca.  where I could swim, bike, catch a movie, or just go for a walk. The house was a welcome refuge from the hustle and bustle of tinsel town. It was large, (large by my standards) with great, comfortable furnishings and a spectacular view of the valley. Bernie’s family were wealthy. My family was not. This disparity in our lifestyles was, to my knowledge, the only thing we ever fought about. Things were easier for him than they were for me, and while I was certainly benefiting from orbiting in his world, I could never quite forget where I had come from and how difficult it was for me to obtain even the smallest of opportunities. As a brief example: at school in New York, before I met Bernie, I would resort to heating up tomato juice for dinner. Bernie’s family were the sort of people who own the tomato juice company.

So, it was on one dark and stormy night enroute to La Costa that a particular argument erupted over privilege.

“You have no idea what the real world lives like,” I shouted, nearly in tears. “I’m always one step from poverty and the only thing that separates me from the homeless man on the street is you.”

“So,” he shouted back, “Get a job!”

He knew this was impossible as I was an illegal alien.

By now the storm had become positively Spielberg like. Low hanging dark clouds, lightning, thunder and us in a small car wending our way to our destination. Windshield wipers on high we stewed for several minutes both of us in our own worlds thinking up clever rebuttals for the next wave of attack when I saw a hitchhiker on the side of the road. It’s important to note at this point in my story that I had NEVER picked up a hitchhiker in my life, nor did I advocate such a thing. But the weather, and the bedraggled look of the man somehow destroyed all my reason. Bernie saw him too.

“Should we give him a ride?” he asked, probably to show that he was still a generous and compassionate person in spite of his wealth.

“It’s pouring out,” I said, “I think we should.”

Bernie pulled over and the man ran to the car. Even before he climbed into the back seat we realized our lack of good sense, but once we were stopped it just seemed like bad manners to drive away.  

“Where you going?” Bernie asked turning to get a good look at our passenger.

“Where you heading?” he responded with a slight drawl.

“La Costa.” Bernie replied

“You can drop me off anywhere near the cut off.” The stranger said as he settled back in his seat.

From the mirror over my visor I had a really good look at the man who identified himself as Hank. He was lean and dirty with a long unkempt beard and equally unkempt hair.  His features were sharp and angular. Hank carried a large knapsack and frankly smelled a little. Had this been a Disney animation, he would have been drawn to represent an anthropomorphic rat.

“Where are you from?” I asked trying to be polite.

“Texas,” he replied.

It wasn’t my imagination. I could see Bernie’s knuckles turn white as he gripped the steering wheel. Neither of us needed to say a thing. We were now the protagonists in a horror movie. It was that simple.  An unmarried couple headed for a week end of debauchery in a car with a stranger while a storm raged outside. We ticked off several of the essential criteria in the Horror movie genre and without saying a thing, we both immediately regretted our act of charity. Every moment in that car was leaden. As we sped our way through the dark I was counting the minutes and the miles thinking to myself, “We’re still alive. We’re still alive. We’re still alive.” I wondered what would happen if I insisted we make an exit to use a restroom? I imagined running for help while Bernie fought off an attack or perhaps I’d be able to fight off our assailant with a crowbar in the trunk. Hank was silent. Then, out of the blue he began to tell us about the corpse recently discovered at LAX. “They found it in pieces,” he volunteered, “The head, the arms, the torso in different places around the airport.”

Hank didn’t look like a guy who read the newspapers or listened to the news. He looked like someone who knew things first hand. “The hands were in a sink at the washroom.”

How does one respond to information like this? “Oh, how interesting,” seems inappropriate when what you really want to do is slam on the brakes and say, “Get the fuck out of this car.”

While writing his screenplay, Bernie had once mentioned to me that monsters like their victims to be afraid.  So, I muttered a half-hearted “Really?” hoping my nonplussed attitude would dampen his interest in killing us.  At this point Bernie was fixed, zombie like on getting us as quickly to the drop off point as possible. I glanced at the speedometer. We were over the speed limit on wet roads. Nothing about this adventure felt like it was going to end well. I could feel Hank staring at the back of my head. I slid down in my seat and wondered if a knife could penetrate the upholstery. The closer we got to the cut-off point, the more nervous I became. I reasoned that an assailant wouldn’t attack us while driving and risk being killed in a car accident. No. An assailant would kill us the moment we pulled over to let him out. He’d slash our throats, dump the bodies and take the car.

“What do you do for a living?” Hank asked

“I’m a writer,” Bernie said

“Oh yeah? What do you write?

“Horror movies.”

Hank seemed interested, “You don’t say?”

To be fair, it’s possible Hank wasn’t the least bit interested. He may have been as bored as toast and just eager to get out of the car. He may have interpreted our tension as residual anger from a lover’s spat, or thought we were good Samaritans with dull lives and little to say.

All I know is that when we saw the sign for the turn off, I blurted out, “I have to pee.” At least if Hank was going to kill us, it would be under bright neon lights and in clear view of a gas station attendant and several patrons.

Bernie pulled into the Mobil station and exclaimed a little too eagerly, “Here you go. End of the road.”

Hank opened his door, grabbed his belongings and piled out of the car. From the overhead lights I could see for the first time that he looked old. Here was a man for whom things did not come easily and I suddenly afforded myself a bit of pity.

“Thanks for the lift.” He said shaking Bernie’s hand.

“No problem.” He replied as we climbed back inside and locked the doors.  I realized that I hadn’t used the bathroom and was a little ashamed of myself.

As the car sped out of the station and back onto dark roads we exhaled a collective sigh of relief and laughed. “What were we thinking?” I asked “Oh my God. What was all that about a body at LAX?”

By the time we reached the house, I had convinced myself that I had over-reacted.

“Isn’t that how all horror movies work?” Bernie said “The protagonists are always being attacked the moment they let down their guard.” I admit, he had a point. How many times had I commented on how stupid the victims in horror movies behaved? I mean, what kind of idiot would pick up a hitchhiker on a dark and stormy night knowing full well the kind of risk they were taking?

We unlocked the front door of the house, and before locking it again, were sure to search the dark for bogeymen. There was no way Hank could have followed us, but still…

“Let’s get on dry clothes and watch a movie,” Bernie suggested, turning on as many lights as we could find.

“Sounds like a great idea,” I said, “Something funny, please.”

As we settled down with hot chocolate, safe and sound to watch Mel Brooks, I briefly thought about Hank out there in the dark making his way towards Mexico. I wondered what was in his knapsack and then let the thought slip from my mind as the storm continued to rage on outside.

[mobilegamerson-blog]

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[180abroad]

Day 189: All Good Things

Finally, after more than six months abroad, the end of our adventure was upon us. Jessica and I had spent 189 nights in 48 different rooms, but after rising from our beds this morning, we would not lay our heads to rest until they were reunited with the long longed-for pillows of our own beds back home.

But we still had half a day to kill before our flight, so we figured we might as well explore some more of Reykjavik while we had the chance.

The Church of Hallgrimur proved just as stunning in the light of morning as it had in the evening two nights earlier.

Just downhill from the church is an area known as the Neighborhood of the Gods---so called because all of the streets are named for Norse mythological figures like Odin, Loki, and Thor.

(The Icelandic letter “Þ” is equivalent to the English “th,” so Þorsgata means Thor’s Street.)

Like I said, we had time to kill.

We saw some of the older buildings in the center of Reykjavik dating back to the late 1800s. (When it comes to architecture, at least, Iceland is on the same time scale as California.) But what really stood out to us were the statues---some more explicable than others.

Behind the memorial to the Unknown Bureaucrat, we came upon the Tjornin---a serene, glassy pond in the middle of the city.

The Tjornin is famously full of birds well fed with tourist bread (though still no match for the swans of Stratford-upon-Avon). Jessica and I laughed to see Nic receive a small measure of the avian intimidation tactics we were faced with back on our way to Liverpool from Wales.

Truly, when you stare into the eyes of a waiting duck, it is the void that stares back.

Next, we took a nice stroll along the Reykjavik harbor before stumbling onto an indoor flea market that's only open on the weekend.

Wandering back into town, we spotted another statue at the top of a hill, so naturally we climbed up to see it. It turned out to be a statue of Ingolfur Arnarson, the Viking captain who first colonized Iceland and gave Reykjavik its name, which means "Smoky Bay."

From the top of the hill, we had a decent view of the surrounding cityscape. Reykjavik is definitely a city on the rise. Construction and renovation projects were underway everywhere we went.

We still had a couple hours left to kill, so we went back to the main tourist street and did some window shopping.

There was one incredibly cheesy but impressively committed Viking-themed souvenir shop, as well as a smaller but more interesting shop selling trinkets inspired by Viking culture and mythology. I bought a pack of Norse god themed playing cards, and Jessica got a pack of cards featuring the Yule Lads.

You see, Iceland doesn't just have one Santa Claus, it has 13. The catch? They're a band of impish degenerates with self-explanatory names like Bowl-Licker, Sausage-Swiper, and Window-Peeper.

If for some reason you still want to send these lovely lads your Christmas wishes, you can deposit them in a specially designated mailbox outside the shop.

Finally, after a perfunctory lunch at Subway, we picked up our bags from our host Ingi, then made our way to the pickup spot for the airport shuttle. Somewhat unfortunately, there weren't nearly as many pickup spots as drop-off spots, so we had to walk about a mile across town to the nearest one. Still, it gave us a chance to enjoy the minimalist architecture and brisk subarctic air.

We also discovered that Reykjavik has a Brewdog, the TV-famous Scottish craft brewery that we'd visited with my Dad in Edinburgh.

Keflavik is a pretty small airport, and we'd arrived a couple hours early like we were supposed to. Still, we barely made it through security before our plane started boarding. Icelandair has done a great job of attracting people to Iceland with budget prices and easy stopovers, but it seems like the airport hasn't quite caught up. The people there were perfectly nice and respectably fast, but there were just too many people in line.

In fact, it was so crowded that we barely had time to fill up our water bottles---the line for the fountains was a good five minutes long.

The gates opened on schedule, but it was well past the flight time before they’d finally gotten everyone on board. Icelandair is a good value for the price, and I'd happily fly with them again, but they don't quite seem to have their act together when it comes to scheduling.

Oh well. No harm, no foul.

We walked out onto the tarmac to meet our plane, and I stooped to touch the ground one last time before we left for good. As we buckled up in our seats, it really started to hit us that the trip was really over and we were finally heading home. We didn't know whether to be happy or sad.

The flight was long and uneventful. A nice additional perk of our stopover in Iceland meant that the return flight was a couple hours shorter than our original flight from Oakland to Barcelona. It was still a long flight---9 hours---but when every hour in the air feels longer than the last, the difference between a 9-hour flight and an 11-hour flight is huge.

Of course, it may have helped knowing that we didn't have a full day in a foreign country ahead of us once we landed.

The one somewhat unpleasant surprise was that there was no food service unless you paid. And I'm the sort of cheap jerk who would rather go hungry than pay for mediocre, extortionately priced food.

Finally, we landed in San Francisco, just a few hours after we'd left Iceland, thanks to the time zones. Surprisingly, getting back into the US proved far easier than getting out of it, and we were soon reunited with our parents at the curbside pickup. My uncle Steve---Nic and Jessica's dad---had rented a preposterously large SUV to pick us all up together with my aunt and both my parents.

There were happy tears all around, but by this point the three of us were delirious with hunger and fatigue. At least, I was. And I was too far gone to notice how anyone else was doing.

We were swept away in our big black four-wheel-drive chariot.

We were at Super Taqueria enjoying the burritos we'd been waiting six months for and barely tasting them.

We were at Nic and Jessica's house saying goodbye.

I was home, simultaneously reunited and separated in ways that were perfectly natural and yet somehow strangely new.

I was in bed---in my own bed, with my own sheets and my own pillows---drifting off to sleep, no different than any other night, as if nothing had happened at all.

But it had happened. It had all happened. We have the stories and the pictures and souvenirs to prove it.

Epilogue

It's strange to be back home after all this time, which I guess isn't all that strange. But at the same time, one of the eeriest things is just how easy it was to slip back into all the old routines.

For a while, I felt a bit like Tom Hanks at the end of Cast Away as he looked at all the untouched food on that buffet table at the airport. Only instead of food, it was stuff.

That first night back, as I was getting ready for bed, I had a groaning realization that all my stuff was still packed away in my backpack downstairs. Just as I'd resigned myself to getting it, I realized that I had a drawer full of sleep clothes and a bathroom cabinet with toothbrushes and toothpaste to spare.

Having my desktop again was nice---though it was less nice when I booted it up on my first morning back and remembered that it was perilously near death when I had left it. It would be a frustrating, hours-long process just to get it back into shape, and what I really needed to do was buy a bunch of new parts and rebuild it from the case up.

Why put so much time, effort, and money into a desktop when I'd been perfectly happy with my laptop for the past six months?

Easy: games. And laptops cost more in the long run if you use them all the time. And, and, and…

Still, one of the biggest lessons of the trip for me---apart from opening my mind to other places and cultures---was the realization of just how little stuff we really need to get by. Which is a bit ironic, considering all the cool things I wanted so badly to buy in so many places but didn't have room to carry.

Looking back on the trip, I think we did an impressive job for two introverts who'd never really done anything like this before. I'm glad we got to see so many different places, and Airbnb made an incredible difference in the cost and quality of the trip.

Our parents being able to join us one by one over the course of the trip was also a brilliant idea and an absolute blessing.

If we were to do it again, though, we'd probably do a few things differently. We'd spend more time in fewer cities. Maybe take a weekend here and there. As much as we enjoyed seeing so many different places, it was exhausting and wore on our nerves. I'd also like to try and put myself out there more when it comes to interacting with locals---though that's far outside my comfort zone. And it would be nice to see what some places look like after dark.

And we'd probably skip Lausanne.

But besides that, I'm satisfied with everything we did, even the not-so-good bits. Getting sick in the Sahara and finding ourselves homeless in Rome were terrible experiences, but they're also some of the most vivid and interesting memories of the trip.

Anyway, I guess I'm just rambling now. This story may be over, but I'm sure there will be others to tell soon enough. One thing about living out of a backpack for six months and getting by on hardly any money: it kind of changes your perceptions of what is and isn't possible.

[cyclone-rachel]

pay the asking price

a Supergirl fanfic

chapter 8: read on AO3 here

previous chapters: 1 // 2 // 3 // 4 // 5 // 6 // 7

~

It took too long for Kara to notice.

She just assumed (and nobody told her otherwise) that he was caught up in work- either the assignments James was giving him or the stuff Winn had involved him in at the DEO, Brainy was doing both, and he’d assured her they would be done to the best of his abilities.

Which was to say, impeccably. Especially as he assured Kara and the others that none of his work would affect the timeline significantly, which was a burden off of his shoulders once he’d finished calculating those odds. She was sure, now, that he was much happier, set at ease knowing he wouldn’t cause a major paradox continuing to do what he was good at… but when Alex had asked if anyone wanted to go with her to the alien bar, Kara and Winn had agreed. Brainy, meanwhile, was nowhere to be seen, and the simple fact that it’d taken this long for Kara to feel uneasy about it worried her.

Suddenly, she couldn’t stomach any more of what she’d been drinking, and when Winn asked her if she wanted to finish up his chicken wings (that may or may not have actually been chicken, she’d enjoyed the look on his face when she’d questioned it too much for her to confirm), she refused.

“Turning away food? That’s not like you.” He commented. “Oh well.”

He continued eating them anyway, and Kara barely focused on how James and Winn’s hands brushed when James went to get one of Winn’s wings (or for that matter, the looks they’d given each other when Kara had dismissed Guardian). Nor did she really notice Alex and Maggie, and how unsteady and tense Alex looked while talking to her, in contrast to how enamored of her Alex had seemed after she had come out to Kara.

“You okay?” she managed to ask, once Alex came back to sit down next to her.

“Yeah, I’m good.” Alex answered.

(which meant Kara was almost certainly going to have to stop by Alex’s apartment with her version of comfort food later)

“So…” she continued. “Where’s Brainy? I mean, we work in the same building half the time and even I haven’t been able to track him down yet.”

“I don’t know.” Kara answered. “I was just wondering the same thing, actually. He could always be working.”

“I didn’t give him anything new today, don’t blame me.” James cut in. “In fact, I haven’t seen him since yesterday.”

“Me neither.” Winn answered. “We were supposed to train, but- well, guess we have to reschedule that.”

“Well, maybe we don’t need to worry at all.” Kara said. “He could just be having fun on Earth, now that he has an image inducer. He might’ve met someone; we don’t know…”

~ Querl was still shaking when he came to, and found himself (unsurprisingly) in a small prison cell.

“If you could just tell me why I’m here, I- I promise it will be a good conversation starter.” He said. He was leaned against the corner of the cell, arms against the metal bars, and when he looked down at himself, he realized he was still wearing the clothes he’d had when he was captured.

And that his image inducer was off. Which was definitely a problem- but when he touched it, or attempted to mentally activate it, it wouldn’t turn on again.

“Very well, I give up.” He continued. He didn’t know why he was talking- perhaps it made his tremors seem less worrying, or temporarily quieted the anxiety he was feeling trapped in here. Of course, he knew what it felt like to wake up in prison (he’d done too much of it) but this was a kidnapping, in an unfamiliar time, when there were very few people who even cared about his wellbeing enough to know that his being captured was a possibility.

So, he reasoned, nobody could blame him for being nervous.

“What is- what’s your favorite baseball team?” he asked. “A friend of mine was trying to teach me about sports in this century. I tried to tell him that one of my other friends was an Olympic athlete, but he seemed very confused when it came to the actual sporting events he competed in. Baseball is the one with the… the hoop, and the tall people bouncing the ball, correct? Perhaps he gave me misinformation on that front.”

The guard walked past his cell, either unable to hear him or unwilling to engage in conversation.

“Oh, a ring!” he said. “I suppose one of you would be married. It seems unlikely, given the behavior you engaged in when you brought me here, however, you have been successful in dating endeavors, which I will have to say is admirable. Even for someone who belongs to an organization such as yours. I do, however, express sympathy for whoever married you...”

That caused the guard to turn around, drawing a gun and pointing it at Querl.

“Don’t think you’re so important I won’t shoot you.” He said.

“Well, that would be a relief, from staring at your ugly face.” Querl answered, shooting up suddenly to try and grab the gun. His own ring was gone, and that was a loss that ached inside of him- that ring was so important to him, so costly, it was one of his only creations that was a complete success, it had enabled so many Legionnaires to save countless lives- but he could figure out how to get it back.

Of course he would.

Right now, however, he was occupied with getting the gun away from the guard and reaching through the bars to take his keys, using them to unlock his cell. Then, after checking to make sure his ring wasn’t in that room (which it was not) he ran.

But of course, his captors wouldn’t let him go so easily, and while he tried to unlock the second barred door he’d seen, thanking whoever was listening that his shaking had slowed, people suddenly came out of a side door to block his way back to the other room.

“Leaving so soon?” asked the woman whose voice he’d heard when he was captured. She didn’t look like- she truly hardly resembled the person she had reminded him of, but her voice still sent a chill down his spine.

Her compatriots, however, were carrying someone familiar to him.

“J’onn?” he asked.

“Brainy, get out of here.” J’onn said, while two other guards held him back.

“If you want your friend to live, I suggest you don’t listen to him and stand down.” The woman answered, unfazed.

“Don’t listen to her, run!”

One of the guards punched J’onn in the face, and he went down, as Querl shouted in protest- and although Querl knew he was strong enough to take everyone else there out and carry J’onn to safety, he suspected he would learn more about what was going on if he complied, for the moment.

And, for that matter, he would get his ring, if he stayed and was rescued, which was a likely possibility and reward enough.

“Okay. Okay!” he said, putting his hands up and dropping the key he had been holding. J’onn lay on the ground, still, in pain.

“Now that’s a good choice.” The woman said, and Querl’s world slipped into darkness once more.

~ “NCPD has Guardian pinned down near the wharf. They just called for backup.” Kara heard Alex say while she was patrolling the city. As much as Kara drew her power from the sun, she did like flying at night, too- it was nice to see all the lights, be reminded that each belonged to someone who she might’ve saved. Someone she would try to save, anyway. Each one gave her hope, motivated her to continue on even when things seemed dark.

“I’m on it.”

And that would’ve been all well and good- except for the sharp sound that assaulted Kara’s ears, knocking her off-balance.

But she regained her focus, hovering in the air with her hands over her ears, enough to hear the message she was getting.

“Hello, Kryptonian.” The woman said. To Kara, her voice was all too familiar, and all thoughts of Guardian were suddenly much less urgent.

“Cadmus.”

“Got it in one.” She answered. “And do you know why we call ourselves that? Cadmus was the very first Greek hero.”

“If you think you’re a hero, you’re crazier than I thought.”

“I’m inviting you over.” She didn’t bother to counter Kara’s accusation, which only supported her point. “We already have a guest waiting for you. Your Coluan friend. But, if you tell anyone where you’re headed, he dies. If you refuse to come, he dies. Come to me, Supergirl. But I should warn you. In the myths, Cadmus was really only famous for one thing: He killed monsters.”

Kara knew she was calling her a monster, and Cadmus- the organization- would treat her accordingly, but… what choice did she have? She had to save Brainy.

She sped off, in the sound of her voice, crashing through the window of what had to be the Cadmus building. She did (what she, at least, considered) a pretty impressive landing, and proceeded through the building, apparently without any obstacles in her way.

It didn’t seem like Cadmus- not until she met who she now knew to be the real Hank Henshaw (or Cyborg-Superman, as he referred to himself- an absurd name, but said with conviction). Who now worked for Cadmus, dedicated to ending alien life on Earth.

Martian or not, he was strong enough to fight her to a standstill. And she hoped, as she succumbed to unconsciousness, that Brainy would be alive when (if) she woke up. ~ When Kara woke up, breathing heavily, she saw metal bars above her.

They were in front of her, too, and on both sides- and to her right…

“Oh. Brainy.” She said, relief in her voice.

“Kara. Are you okay?”

Kara barely nodded.

“Now I know how bad guys feel when I pummel them.” She said. “I mean, I’ve been pummeled before, but… not like this.”

She stared at the ceiling- it didn’t quite feel like it was going to cave in on her, but it still wasn’t the most comfortable place she’d ever been in, and all she wished was that she’d been just a little bit stronger, that she was able to defeat Hank and get Brainy out with no obstacles in her way.

But even she had her limits, and she knew one way or another- or at least she hoped- that she’d make sure Brainy would be safe again, back in the DEO until he could find a way to his real home.

“So yeah, I’m okay.” Kara continued, before standing up to examine her cell. There was green light around her, which automatically made her feel uneasy, even if it wasn’t actually Kryptonite.

“They captured J’onn, too.” Brainy said.

“That wasn’t J’onn. Remember I once told you, J’onn assumed the identity of a human?”

“Yes. So… this was Hank Henshaw, that I met- and J’onn is still safe.”

“Yeah. That’s the human. Only they enhanced him, somehow.”

“Yes, I could tell.” Brainy answered. “Although I did not realize it until after I was imprisoned here, but before you arrived.”

“Sorry.” Kara said, before trying to bend the bars of her cell. She tried her hardest, but… nothing.

“The bars are made of Nth-metal, from Thanagar.” Brainy pointed out, as she was groaning from the effort, face scrunching up as she attempted to move them. “They’re unbreakable.”

And I should know.

“You know, Nth-metal is also one of the substances with which I built my Legion ring.” Brainy continued. “And the rings belonging to the rest of the Legion.”

“Congratulations.” Kara answered. “Seriously, that’s… that’s great. But you don’t have your ring, do you? Can you… summon it, or whatever, and use it to break the bars?”

“No.” he said. “I designed them with the intent that the wearer wouldn’t be separated from them. But… I will consider that.”

“Thanks. But we still need to find another way to get your ring back, so if you have any ideas…”

“Funny story- no, not funny at all, but Winn told me that such a phrase is what you use when telling any story, regardless of the humor in it- the last time I was near Thanagar, I-“

I wasn’t myself.

“Brainy?”

“Never mind. A-another time, perhaps.”

“Right.” Kara said.

“So. This is the infamous Cadmus.”

“Yeah, no kidding.” Kara answered, putting a hand to her ear. “They sent me a message. It still kinda hurts, actually.”

“Oh. I apologize.” Brainy said.

“Not your fault.” Kara told him. “Besides, I think they kidnapped you to get to me.”

“In that case, I definitely apologize.”

“It’s okay. Now that we’re here… if we get through this in one piece, we can learn about what they really want, and who’s behind it all.”

“What they want, besides wiping aliens off the face of the Earth?”

Kara almost wanted to laugh, at how casual he made it sound.

“I have encountered groups like this before. I understand.” He said.

“In that case, yeah. Exactly that.”

Who else have you faced? she wondered. What kinds of things have you gone through?

Are you okay?

Those questions would have to wait. Especially until they were in a safer, and lighter, place.

~ “Supergirl!”

Kara and Brainy looked up immediately, watching the woman who’d given Kara her message, the woman who kidnapped Brainy. She strode in, attention on Kara.

“I don’t think we’ve been introduced.”

“I’ve seen you before.” Kara said, holding the bars of her cell to make sure she was still steady. “In Lena Luthor’s office. What were you doing there?”

“I might ask you the same.” She answered. “I don’t like the idea of you around my daughter.”

Lillian Luthor, Querl thought. Of course. Wife of Lionel Luthor, mother of Lex, stepmother of Lena- though at this point, she is unaware of such…

No wonder he felt uneasy around her. And, for that matter, why she was familiar to him- although there was still someone else she resembled, who wasn’t part of that family line at all.

“You’re Lillian Luthor.” Kara breathed, coming to the same conclusion. “Lex and Lena’s mother.”

“I’m a lot of things.” Lillian answered. “A doctor, a patriot, a mother.”

“A liar, a kidnapper, a killer… does Lena know about Cadmus? Does she know who her mother really is?”

“And what are you to my daughter?” Lillian said, in a dangerous tone of voice.

Querl could only watch, as Kara and Lillian battled verbally, but he knew as he did that there was no moment where he admired Kara more, than when she was standing up to her.

(Perhaps there were others- but right then, when Lillian had all the power in the situation and Kara was in a cage, she hadn’t sounded stronger or spoken with more conviction.

At least, not in situations where Querl could hear her)

“I’m a friend.” Kara said.

“Heard that before.” Lillian answered. “Years ago, Superman came to my son Lex, and promised him the world. A new dawn for mankind… Lex believed him, poor thing.”

Lies.

“Then he watched.” Lillian continued, walking around the cell, leaning forward with her hands on the bars, glaring at Kara. “As your kinsman infected this country with his propaganda, as his power became unchecked. And when Lex tried to take that power back, Superman convinced the world Lex was evil.”

He is.

“My darling boy.” Lillian lamented, shaking her head just a little. “My genius son, an actual Superman, behind bars for life. Because you and your kind will stop at nothing to poison the Earth.”

Querl and Kara were both standing now, watching her, and Kara stood further away from Lillian as she answered her.

“You’re out of your mind.”

“We’ll agree to disagree.” Lillian said, taking one hand off of the bar, then moving away from it entirely, walking back around to the front of the cell.

“So what am I doing here?”

“I need something from you. I need you to be human, for a little while. I know from your fight with Red Tornado when you expel enough heat vision, you deplete the solar radiation in your cells, leaving you as helpless as any mere mortal.”

Any Kryptonian, Kara itched to correct her, as her hand tightened around one of the cell bars. And that is nothing to be ashamed of.

But she wouldn’t let Lillian get that satisfaction, she decided as she watched one of Lillian’s guards bring something to her.

“I’ve designed this helmet to absorb the radiation.”

“You want me to solar-flare.” Kara said. “That’s never gonna happen.”

“I can’t hurt you.” Lillian answered, taking a taser out of one of her guards’ pockets. “But I can hurt him.”

She aimed the taser at Querl, and instantly he fell back- there was the pain again, what he felt when her agents knocked him out and brought him there in the first place.

It wasn’t enough to make him unconscious, but perhaps that was a curse rather than a blessing in that case.

“We’ve been studying your friend.” Lillian said. “And I’ve been studying Lex’s notes, regarding another alien he worked with- another traitor, named Brainiac. Both are powerful, but their internal systems are particularly susceptible to these weapons. Say you’ll do it, and I’ll let him live. Or I can just hit him again, in his heart-“

“No, no, okay, okay, I’ll do it, stop!” Kara protested. Querl stared up at her, grateful but mostly worried.

“Please. Don’t.”

“I’m not gonna let you die.” Kara insisted, before walking over to the door of the cell. “Give me the helmet.”

The guards escorted Kara out of the cell, then, and Lillian placed the helmet on Kara’s head with all the grace of someone bestowing a crown upon their queen.

Or a Kryptonite crown, given to a king of weaklings…

But this was different. Kara was giving up her power, willingly, for him. And this time, he would see to it that she survived for the foreseeable future, as long as she had to.

I’m revising my previous thought, he considered as he watched her solar-flare. This is the most admirable thing I’ve ever witnessed from Kara.

She didn’t scream, at first. She started to breathe heavily, and the lights flickered on and off as Lillian smirked, lightbulbs beginning to pop as Kara expended more and more of her heat vision. But eventually she did, letting out a final yell, head raised as she let out the last of her energy before she collapsed.

One of the guards took the helmet off, and she fell, but she was still conscious. Lillian lifted her up, holding her as she was on her knees, struggling to get away from her.

“Thank you.” Lillian said. Then she slapped Kara, pulling her up again and holding her chin in one of her hands as she saw that she’d made Kara’s lip bleed.

“Well!” she announced, touching the blood and rubbing it between her fingers. “It worked.”

She nodded at the guards.

“Take her.” She said, and Kara was dragged out of the room.

“Supergirl!” Querl said, trying to pull himself up- but he was too shaky, still. “SUPERGIRL!”

~ “What are you gonna do with me?” Kara asked, mind still foggy. She couldn’t tell where she was going, or how she was moving at all. But when she was conscious again, she was being strapped to a table like in all the nightmares she’d had when she was first on Earth (brought on by Jeremiah, really, telling her what people could do to her once they found out she was an alien), a huge lamp that was nothing like the sun shining down on her. “What are you doing? She was supposed to save Brainy. That was our deal! Where is she?”

“I suggest you relax.” Lillian said, a black mask over the lower part of her face. She held a large needle, which Kara had never been afraid of before- but with this atmosphere, reminiscent of the horror movies Alex liked to watch, she was starting to be. “It’ll all be over soon.”

Kara began breathing rapidly, again, as Lillian’s needle approached, going into her arm.

“W-why do you need my blood?”

~

Before she knew it, it was over, and Kara was being dragged back into her cell beside Brainy.

Someone shoved her, and she was slammed against the cell wall, falling back and hitting the ground roughly as the door was shut.

“Kara. What did they do to you?”

“They took my blood.” She said, crawling over to where he sat, and pulling herself up so she could sit beside him. Almost like they were in the same cell- separated by only a few inches, and some Nth metal.

“And?”

“And… that was it.” Kara answered as she leaned back.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m scared.” She admitted. “Brainy… Querl, if something happens, if I don’t get out of here, I need you to tell Alex something for me.”

“Anything.”

“I need you to tell her to just… keep living her life, on her own terms. Tell her I wasn’t scared, okay?”

Querl nodded.

“If I don’t make it out and you do, you’re welcome to tell her I was not scared either.” He said. “Although in this case, it is logical to be afraid.”

“Thanks, that’s very comforting.” Kara said.

“Right.” Querl answered. “But I just keep thinking… if I die in this cell, maybe I deserve to.”

Because of my family. Because of my own history with cells just like these, on planets dedicated to holding criminals, because of what I once did, because I can’t tell you the real reason I’m here-

Because I can’t tell you any of this, either.

“You don’t deserve to die.” Kara answered immediately, fiercely. “You deserve to survive. You’re a Legionnaire. Clark said that, you’re a hero. And you don’t believe that yourself?”

“Kara, about that, there’s something I have to tell you-“

But right then, Kara’s cell opened.

“Come with me.” Beckoned a figure in a black jacket, hood over his head.

“Who are you?”

He took the hood off, and Kara stared.

“Kara.” He said. “It’s me.”

“Jeremiah.” She whispered. “I can’t believe it…”

She launched herself forward, hugging him, and he held her just as tight.

“We have to move.” He said, and moved to unlock Querl’s cell.

But by then, Querl had fallen unconscious again, and when the door was open, he slumped onto the floor.

“Oh my god, Brainy.”

~

“He’s going to be fine, he’s already recovering from the taser.” Jeremiah said.

“We should’ve found you sooner.” Kara answered. “But Brainy needs to get his ring, it should be somewhere around here.”

Jeremiah smiled, and pulled it out of his pocket.

“Thought this looked special.” He said. “Like something your cousin showed me once.”

Kara nodded.

“Yeah, he and Brainy worked together.” she said, sliding it onto one of Brainy’s fingers, holding his hand to keep the ring from being shaken off.

“Got it. But you finding me sooner doesn’t matter now- you were off saving the world. And I am so proud of who you’ve become.”

Kara smiled, blinking away tears.

“But… but Alex, when she sees you, she’s- she’s had to be so strong, she took over everything.”

“She’s always been too strong for her own good.” Jeremiah said. “Brainy, are you able to get up?”

“I- I should.” Querl answered, making sure his systems were functioning properly. “Leaving is an urgent matter. Thank you.”

Alarms started to sound, and Jeremiah pulled his hood back on as Kara helped Querl to his feet.

“We’re out of time.”

~

“Go down this hallway.” Jeremiah directed Kara and Querl, as the three of them proceeded together. Kara was helping Querl walk, but he was all too grateful. “There’s an escape at the end.”

“No, I’m not leaving you. I’m not losing you again.” Kara insisted.

“Kara, I’ll be fine.” Jeremiah said, unlocking the door Querl tried to escape out of. It opened, and Jeremiah gently pushed Kara and Querl ahead of him.

“Please, just go. I’ll slow them down.”

Kara must’ve looked doubtful, because Jeremiah continued.

“I’ve been here fifteen years. I’ll survive a little longer.”

“If I leave you here, Alex will never forgive me.” She said.

“Kara, if you die here, there’ll be no one to forgive.”

Querl could hardly imagine what Kara was feeling right now. To have a father who was willing to risk his life, to save his daughter and someone he didn’t know… he couldn’t put himself in such a situation. But such a decision clearly pained her, and she rushed into Jeremiah’s arms again, for one last hug.

“I love you.” She said, holding him tighter than the last time, not willing to let go so soon.

“I love you too.” Jeremiah answered. “Now go. Go!”

Querl could still see the tears in Kara’s eyes as he led her away, and when both of them looked back (there was a story about that, right? Someone who lost their love, in an attempt to lead them home from the darkest of places? He would have to find it, once he and Kara got out, it could be a comfort in some way), Jeremiah was gone.

Kara and Querl ran, then, escaping from Cadmus headquarters to the sound of gunfire behind them, and not daring to look back again.

~

“Oh my god, I just heard.” Alex said, rushing into the med bay. Querl was being checked over and Kara’s yellow sun lamps were still on, healing her and making sure her cells were replenished, but Kara had enough energy to sit up and greet her sister. “I had no idea Cadmus took you-“

“Alex.”

“I should’ve been there-“

“Alex. Alex, Jeremiah helped us escape.”

Alex could only stare.

“You saw Dad?”

“Yeah. And I know where he is.”

~

Querl sat on Kara’s couch, after he was approved to leave the DEO, with Kara by his side, making sure he could rest and properly heal all of his systems. And, with that comfort (by Kara’s insistence) came comfort food, as Winn and James and Alex arrived at Kara’s apartment bearing boxes of pizza and bags of something that hopefully tasted as good as it smelled.

“You guys survived Cadmus, the least we can do is bring you pizza and potstickers.” James said, as the food was laid on Kara’s table.

Alex took one container out of a bag, and presented it to Kara.

“I’m sorry, they’re… cold.” She said.

“That’s okay!” Kara answered, using heat vision on them. “Not anymore.”

“Aw yeah, she got her powers back!” Winn cheered.

Kara remained standing, and the others gathered around the TV, as the news reported Guardian being cleared of all charges in the wake of a recent arrest.

National City’s New Hero, he was being proclaimed as, and Kara realized she’d missed all of that- well. She didn’t know how much real news there was, when it came to Guardian. She had no idea what was going on with him, what his deal was- if he was anything like Clark’s vigilante friend/enemy, a lot.

But she would figure out what to do about Guardian later. And who knew? Maybe the city was big enough for two heroes. Maybe, even, they could be stronger together.

It would certainly take some of the load off her. The question was, though- would Guardian agree?

“Alright, I admit it, I’m glad Guardian was there to help you out.” Kara said.

“Hate to say I told you so…”

“No, you love saying that.” Kara insisted. James didn’t look fazed, as Alex and Winn exchanged glances.

“Still want to know who’s under that mask, though…”

“Oh, I’m sure he’ll reveal himself soon enough.” Alex said, before turning away. Winn and James followed her, and Kara sat down on the couch beside Querl.

She offered him a potsticker, and he eagerly took it.

“Oh, yes. Thank you.” He said, before eating.

“It’s good to be home.”

“You didn’t find our adjoining cells cozy?” Querl asked.

Kara didn’t answer.

“You were really brave, Querl.” She said. “I mean, I knew that. But…”

“To tell you the truth, I was still scared.”

“You can still be scared, while being brave.” Kara continued, after eating another potsticker. “That’s what makes you a hero.”

“Well…” Querl started. “Any courage I do have, I learned from you.”

Kara gave him a soft smile, before Winn drew her attention away.

“Kara! Hey, Alex said the oven’s taking too long, she needs your help heating up the pizza-“

Winn pointed to his eyes, as though he had heat vision himself, mimicking the effect.

“Yup.” Kara said, getting up from the couch and handing Querl the container. “A superhero’s work is never done.”

Querl looked up at the scene around him- Kara by the sink, laughing with Alex, Winn and James sitting down with drinks in their hands, ready to go for another round.

After so much darkness, being trapped with no hope, this apartment felt like heaven. Or, generally, somewhere he didn’t deserve to be… but they’d let him in, anyway.

This was his life, his new home away from the Legion, with these people who were starting to consider him a friend.

And, for the moment, he didn’t need anything else.

“Winn, pass me one of those?” he gestured at the bottle, and Winn gave him one, which he opened with ease.

He drank to having friends in two millennia. To who he now knew was Kara’s Earth father, who may have given his life for Querl’s safety. To this food, which he knew he was enjoying. And to Kara, his hero.

Yes, this was more than enough for him.