Miyumi
Promise
A Justice League fic
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot. Cartoon Network and the almighty creators of Justice League own the characters. I just like to borrow them, sometimes.
~*~
Everything changed with Luthor's murder.
Murder is a simple thing, really. One goes in, kills the victim, and leaves the body behind. Superman, the Man of Steel, did just that. He killed Lex Luthor, and ended a crime era that had lasted for years.
I think that's when he lost it.
Clark Kent, the happy Boy Scout from Smallville was replaced by Lord Superman, head of the Justice Lords, provider of the new, undemocratic way of law. It was the way crime would be stopped. In this new world, the sufferers wouldn't suffer, and mourners wouldn't cry. The good were to be rewarded, and the bad would be lobotomized.
That's how it started.
The person he cared about the most, Lois Lane, was the first to notice the change in his demeanor. At first it was subtle-a few lobotimizations here, a couple more criminal deaths there. Nothing big. But then the amount of lobotomized criminals went sky-high, and the residents of Arkham Asylum doubly increased. As crime went down, we suspected that Superman's mind did too. He became cold, basically uncaring. He ignored the calls Lois sent to his apartment, which he eventually sold, making his permanent home at the Watchtower, where he could watch the Earth 24/7.
Days, weeks, months, and eventually two years went by. The Earth was divided into sectors that were monitored constantly. Freedom and democracy did not exist. The promises of freedom that so many countries fought for were forsaken. Everyone began to live in fear. The world was changing, and I was one of those who hated it. Of course I kept my mouth shut-speaking out was not tolerated. One negative word, and my free will would be lobotomized out.
And yet during the whole time, I still had her. The alien-no, woman I cared for more than anything. Hawkgirl. Shayera Hol-or just Shayera, to me.
It took me a year to tell her how I felt. Whether she felt the same for that long was determined one night, in the moonlit glow of the newly constructed Watchtower. She wanted to show me something, so I came.
The long, auburn hair that I loved to touch was there. For the first time, she let me feel it between me fingers. It was soft as silk and twice as beautiful. It fell between my hands like an exquisite piece of that precious material.
When she removed her mask, letting me see her face for the first time, my heart almost stopped. Her mace lay on the bed beside us, and for the first time, she kissed me.
She did really want to talk, also. She wanted to talk of the changes within the league. When she spoke, I knew everything had indeed changed, and saw it all through her eyes. Her tone was bitter, and her face was angry. She knew what we had begun to do, as the Justice Lords, was wrong. She told me how Thanagar was ruled with an iron fist. She thought the Earth was different, but found she was sorely disappointed.
She reached under her bed, pulling out her old mask. She cradled it in her arms, silver tears falling down her face. She didn't want to forget who she once was. "Things are changing, John" she said softly. "Everything is changing."
Her words were almost prophetic. Every member of the League changed. Superman became bitter, lobotomizing the smallest bit of violence. Batman became even more a recluse, staying in his cave, never coming out. Diana, Wonder Woman, was his only visitor. She had cut her hair short. She said it symbolized a break with old ties. I assumed that meant with her sisters and mother back on Themyscara, whom she did not contact ever again.
J'onn was in charge of monitor relay, which was just a fancy word Superman coined, meaning that he made sure all the sectors had reported peacefully. It took J'onn longer to accept his new job.
But eventually, he became as cold as the rest of them. He too forgot what the Justice League had been started for-defending truth and righteousness with a fair hand.
Now, he only remembered the way of the Justice Lords.
Shayera and I tried to save what little romance we had. We knew what Batman felt for Diana, but he dared not to admit it. Diana remained alone, and he was a recluse. We didn't want to share such a fate. We wanted to be together.
She did share my dream, and for that I thanked every deity I could, many, many times. She promised to be with me. She promised we'd be together forever.
She promised never to change.
But she did.
Just like everyone else.
It was subtle at first. She threw away her old costume: the red boots, the green pants, and the yellow top. She couldn't throw her mask away, though. She kept that hidden under our bed, where it remained dusty and closed, unless she took it out, opening the box and pulling out her past.
I confronted her one night, as we lay awake, insomniacs joined in one bed. I asked why she changed.
Her reply was sad in tone. "Why can't you understand," she had pleaded, turning away from my steely gaze. "The world is changing, and if we want to stay with it, we must change too." Her hand caressed my cheek, trying to soften the edginess in her voice. "I'd never leave you behind," she added softly. "Please, Jon."
Needless to say, it was a rough night for both of us.
Her new costume was dark as night, the centered hawk emblem not quite covering her majestic shoulders. Shadows often danced across her sculptured body, so perfect, it almost made me blind just looking. Her mask covered her beautiful tresses, tucking it all beneath that heavy helmet of gold. She claimed that keeping it back was less of a nuisance. Along with her alternative attire, her mace became better than before, able to absorb more electricity now. It proved how willing she had become to kill.
But her hair, when she let flow long across her shoulders, still smelled sweet, scented with roses, mountain air, and something more. That much hadn't changed. It was in that small, almost insignificant fact that I took comfort in.
After the birth of the Justice Lords, peoples of the world fled when they saw us. They ran, frightened, if one of our shadows fell over them. They were afraid of us, and no longer rejoiced in our presence. It wasn't love in their eyes, not adoration, happiness, or pride. It was fear, fright, and outright terror.
I missed the love that people had for us.
But any pain I had, any regret for killing another scumbag or rebellious citizen, I forgot once I found her during the night. Years earlier, she had packed her sparse belongings and moved into my room without much warning. The other Justice Lords, we suspected, just turned a blind eye. They probably knew that we were sleeping together.
But still.
It was so pitiful the way we clung to each other. Whatever heart they had left was used for our condition-they felt sorry for us. We couldn't live without the other.
It was often past midnight when my shift ended, and she faithfully waited up each night. She ignored all the dirt and grime that covered me, and just whispered tender endearments as we tried to cry ourselves to sleep. Her body rose off of mine with every breath I took, as she cradled her face across my scarred chest.
Blinking her tear-strewn jade eyes at me, she softly said that she thanked the gods every night that I returned to her. That I wasn't dead, and that I still loved her.
I suppose we didn't do anything that Superman-or Lord Superman would have condemned. Through the long, cold hours of the night we held each other, clinging and weeping for the tragedy that Earth had become. Her head lay on my chest, where battle scars remained as a tribute to the future, and her hand was clutched in mine; a comforting presence. Her wings enclosed us as I kissed her, long and hard until we couldn't breathe, gasping for breath like two people drowning within each other.
The last time she had cried hard, was when Flash died. We both knew he would have hated what the Justice League had become. He would have called us dictators, unfit to protect the world we once treasured so. At his funeral, she sat close to me, sobbing until there were no more tears to cry. She often lost herself in thought, still expecting the little punk to swerve up and do something, like steal her mace, ruffle her wings the wrong way, or say something nice, as a random act of kindness. He was random like that, being an irritating kid one minute, and a sweet gentlemen the next. It all came in the package that was Flash.
We mourned the loss so heavily, that eventually everyone forgot. That's what happens when you cry hard. You grieve for months, and then move on.
When Batman showed us the footage of that alternate dimension, I could feel my heart split into two. Not only did I see Flash, alive and well, but I saw Shayera there, still the fiery and stubborn woman I fell in love with so many years ago. When this alternate Hawkgirl managed to crush her way out of our enclosure, I hesitated for just the slightest amount of time. She seemed so young, so full of life and innocence.
So free.
Firing upon her made me realize that I too, had changed. I watched her fall to the ground, where Lord J'onn phased to, holding her unmoving body close. Her breaths were unstable and short; I was sure she was going to die. I saw J'onn's eyes flicker with sadness just for a moment. He too understands the responsibility I felt for harming her. I knew J'onn would take her to Arkham. In this world, she was a criminal, guilty of failing to kill off the evil in her world. I only hoped that this Hawkgirl would live, escape our world, and someday fall in love with her Green Lantern.
That night at the Tower, I lay alone on my side of the bed, staring at my hands. The hands that fired a flash of green light to the woman I loved. I tossed and turned with my guilt that night, sweat pouring down my face. The pained look on this Hawkgirl's face haunted me.
Shayera tried to console my guilty body. She trailed soft butterfly kisses down my neck and across my shoulders, trying to stir me from my reverie. But every time I looked at Shayera I saw Her face. The face that was wrecked with pain, with shock, with agony. I saw Her in the Arkham medical room, hooked up to beeping monitors that would give out eventually. She was chained to her table, eyes closed and breathing erratically.
When Shayera woke up the next morning, she found me standing by the window, dark circles under my eyes. I had fired upon the one person I would have died for. I wanted to just curl up and die. I didn't deserve to live-not after what I did.
Neither of us could through the process of marriage, and that was fine. We'd probably done every unspeakable act that the God condemns for the unwed, but that didn't matter. In a world gone mad, all I needed was her.
It was two years ago that she promised herself to me, two years ago that I said, I loved her. She promised that nothing would ever separate us, that nothing could make her forget the love she kindled for me.
We made a promise to be together forever. For better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health we'd be together.
It was a promise that we'd die to keep.
~*~
A/N: I'll be honest-this fic was very hard to write. I started it out just as a short, 2-page thing to get the idea in my head into words. Then I slowly started adding more details, until it became this length. I hope you all enjoyed this piece, and I also hope that I could capture some of the inside angst from the JL episode A Better World. Read the between the dialogue of episodes-it creates fic ideas, lol. As always, please review!
Promise
A Justice League fic
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot. Cartoon Network and the almighty creators of Justice League own the characters. I just like to borrow them, sometimes.
~*~
Everything changed with Luthor's murder.
Murder is a simple thing, really. One goes in, kills the victim, and leaves the body behind. Superman, the Man of Steel, did just that. He killed Lex Luthor, and ended a crime era that had lasted for years.
I think that's when he lost it.
Clark Kent, the happy Boy Scout from Smallville was replaced by Lord Superman, head of the Justice Lords, provider of the new, undemocratic way of law. It was the way crime would be stopped. In this new world, the sufferers wouldn't suffer, and mourners wouldn't cry. The good were to be rewarded, and the bad would be lobotomized.
That's how it started.
The person he cared about the most, Lois Lane, was the first to notice the change in his demeanor. At first it was subtle-a few lobotimizations here, a couple more criminal deaths there. Nothing big. But then the amount of lobotomized criminals went sky-high, and the residents of Arkham Asylum doubly increased. As crime went down, we suspected that Superman's mind did too. He became cold, basically uncaring. He ignored the calls Lois sent to his apartment, which he eventually sold, making his permanent home at the Watchtower, where he could watch the Earth 24/7.
Days, weeks, months, and eventually two years went by. The Earth was divided into sectors that were monitored constantly. Freedom and democracy did not exist. The promises of freedom that so many countries fought for were forsaken. Everyone began to live in fear. The world was changing, and I was one of those who hated it. Of course I kept my mouth shut-speaking out was not tolerated. One negative word, and my free will would be lobotomized out.
And yet during the whole time, I still had her. The alien-no, woman I cared for more than anything. Hawkgirl. Shayera Hol-or just Shayera, to me.
It took me a year to tell her how I felt. Whether she felt the same for that long was determined one night, in the moonlit glow of the newly constructed Watchtower. She wanted to show me something, so I came.
The long, auburn hair that I loved to touch was there. For the first time, she let me feel it between me fingers. It was soft as silk and twice as beautiful. It fell between my hands like an exquisite piece of that precious material.
When she removed her mask, letting me see her face for the first time, my heart almost stopped. Her mace lay on the bed beside us, and for the first time, she kissed me.
She did really want to talk, also. She wanted to talk of the changes within the league. When she spoke, I knew everything had indeed changed, and saw it all through her eyes. Her tone was bitter, and her face was angry. She knew what we had begun to do, as the Justice Lords, was wrong. She told me how Thanagar was ruled with an iron fist. She thought the Earth was different, but found she was sorely disappointed.
She reached under her bed, pulling out her old mask. She cradled it in her arms, silver tears falling down her face. She didn't want to forget who she once was. "Things are changing, John" she said softly. "Everything is changing."
Her words were almost prophetic. Every member of the League changed. Superman became bitter, lobotomizing the smallest bit of violence. Batman became even more a recluse, staying in his cave, never coming out. Diana, Wonder Woman, was his only visitor. She had cut her hair short. She said it symbolized a break with old ties. I assumed that meant with her sisters and mother back on Themyscara, whom she did not contact ever again.
J'onn was in charge of monitor relay, which was just a fancy word Superman coined, meaning that he made sure all the sectors had reported peacefully. It took J'onn longer to accept his new job.
But eventually, he became as cold as the rest of them. He too forgot what the Justice League had been started for-defending truth and righteousness with a fair hand.
Now, he only remembered the way of the Justice Lords.
Shayera and I tried to save what little romance we had. We knew what Batman felt for Diana, but he dared not to admit it. Diana remained alone, and he was a recluse. We didn't want to share such a fate. We wanted to be together.
She did share my dream, and for that I thanked every deity I could, many, many times. She promised to be with me. She promised we'd be together forever.
She promised never to change.
But she did.
Just like everyone else.
It was subtle at first. She threw away her old costume: the red boots, the green pants, and the yellow top. She couldn't throw her mask away, though. She kept that hidden under our bed, where it remained dusty and closed, unless she took it out, opening the box and pulling out her past.
I confronted her one night, as we lay awake, insomniacs joined in one bed. I asked why she changed.
Her reply was sad in tone. "Why can't you understand," she had pleaded, turning away from my steely gaze. "The world is changing, and if we want to stay with it, we must change too." Her hand caressed my cheek, trying to soften the edginess in her voice. "I'd never leave you behind," she added softly. "Please, Jon."
Needless to say, it was a rough night for both of us.
Her new costume was dark as night, the centered hawk emblem not quite covering her majestic shoulders. Shadows often danced across her sculptured body, so perfect, it almost made me blind just looking. Her mask covered her beautiful tresses, tucking it all beneath that heavy helmet of gold. She claimed that keeping it back was less of a nuisance. Along with her alternative attire, her mace became better than before, able to absorb more electricity now. It proved how willing she had become to kill.
But her hair, when she let flow long across her shoulders, still smelled sweet, scented with roses, mountain air, and something more. That much hadn't changed. It was in that small, almost insignificant fact that I took comfort in.
After the birth of the Justice Lords, peoples of the world fled when they saw us. They ran, frightened, if one of our shadows fell over them. They were afraid of us, and no longer rejoiced in our presence. It wasn't love in their eyes, not adoration, happiness, or pride. It was fear, fright, and outright terror.
I missed the love that people had for us.
But any pain I had, any regret for killing another scumbag or rebellious citizen, I forgot once I found her during the night. Years earlier, she had packed her sparse belongings and moved into my room without much warning. The other Justice Lords, we suspected, just turned a blind eye. They probably knew that we were sleeping together.
But still.
It was so pitiful the way we clung to each other. Whatever heart they had left was used for our condition-they felt sorry for us. We couldn't live without the other.
It was often past midnight when my shift ended, and she faithfully waited up each night. She ignored all the dirt and grime that covered me, and just whispered tender endearments as we tried to cry ourselves to sleep. Her body rose off of mine with every breath I took, as she cradled her face across my scarred chest.
Blinking her tear-strewn jade eyes at me, she softly said that she thanked the gods every night that I returned to her. That I wasn't dead, and that I still loved her.
I suppose we didn't do anything that Superman-or Lord Superman would have condemned. Through the long, cold hours of the night we held each other, clinging and weeping for the tragedy that Earth had become. Her head lay on my chest, where battle scars remained as a tribute to the future, and her hand was clutched in mine; a comforting presence. Her wings enclosed us as I kissed her, long and hard until we couldn't breathe, gasping for breath like two people drowning within each other.
The last time she had cried hard, was when Flash died. We both knew he would have hated what the Justice League had become. He would have called us dictators, unfit to protect the world we once treasured so. At his funeral, she sat close to me, sobbing until there were no more tears to cry. She often lost herself in thought, still expecting the little punk to swerve up and do something, like steal her mace, ruffle her wings the wrong way, or say something nice, as a random act of kindness. He was random like that, being an irritating kid one minute, and a sweet gentlemen the next. It all came in the package that was Flash.
We mourned the loss so heavily, that eventually everyone forgot. That's what happens when you cry hard. You grieve for months, and then move on.
When Batman showed us the footage of that alternate dimension, I could feel my heart split into two. Not only did I see Flash, alive and well, but I saw Shayera there, still the fiery and stubborn woman I fell in love with so many years ago. When this alternate Hawkgirl managed to crush her way out of our enclosure, I hesitated for just the slightest amount of time. She seemed so young, so full of life and innocence.
So free.
Firing upon her made me realize that I too, had changed. I watched her fall to the ground, where Lord J'onn phased to, holding her unmoving body close. Her breaths were unstable and short; I was sure she was going to die. I saw J'onn's eyes flicker with sadness just for a moment. He too understands the responsibility I felt for harming her. I knew J'onn would take her to Arkham. In this world, she was a criminal, guilty of failing to kill off the evil in her world. I only hoped that this Hawkgirl would live, escape our world, and someday fall in love with her Green Lantern.
That night at the Tower, I lay alone on my side of the bed, staring at my hands. The hands that fired a flash of green light to the woman I loved. I tossed and turned with my guilt that night, sweat pouring down my face. The pained look on this Hawkgirl's face haunted me.
Shayera tried to console my guilty body. She trailed soft butterfly kisses down my neck and across my shoulders, trying to stir me from my reverie. But every time I looked at Shayera I saw Her face. The face that was wrecked with pain, with shock, with agony. I saw Her in the Arkham medical room, hooked up to beeping monitors that would give out eventually. She was chained to her table, eyes closed and breathing erratically.
When Shayera woke up the next morning, she found me standing by the window, dark circles under my eyes. I had fired upon the one person I would have died for. I wanted to just curl up and die. I didn't deserve to live-not after what I did.
Neither of us could through the process of marriage, and that was fine. We'd probably done every unspeakable act that the God condemns for the unwed, but that didn't matter. In a world gone mad, all I needed was her.
It was two years ago that she promised herself to me, two years ago that I said, I loved her. She promised that nothing would ever separate us, that nothing could make her forget the love she kindled for me.
We made a promise to be together forever. For better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health we'd be together.
It was a promise that we'd die to keep.
~*~
A/N: I'll be honest-this fic was very hard to write. I started it out just as a short, 2-page thing to get the idea in my head into words. Then I slowly started adding more details, until it became this length. I hope you all enjoyed this piece, and I also hope that I could capture some of the inside angst from the JL episode A Better World. Read the between the dialogue of episodes-it creates fic ideas, lol. As always, please review!