You may have noticed that we've reached stage three rather than stage two. This is because I think that Superboy is stage two, and since he upped and stormed off before his session could even start, we're going to have to save him until the end, when he comes back. Silly Supey!
This one was probably the hardest to write, because Kaldur, though I love him, is such a complex dude. I still feel like I didn't really do him justice, but... oh, well. C'est la vie. If I'd looked at this any longer my eyes would have fallen out.
Disclaimer: I claim no ownership of or affiliation with Young Justice or the characters or situations therein. This is a nonprofit work of fanfiction.
Stage Three: Bargaining
The individual attempts to compensate for what has happened, often by blaming his or herself or re-imagining the situation. If I had just done one thing differently… The individual may try to change what has happened by offering something in return for reversal. It would be better if I had never done this; things will get better if I leave…
A wide array of conceivable opening questions drift through Black Canary's mind as she eyes the hunched-over boy in front of her, and the one that she settles on is admittedly a bit inane, but it's a start.
"How are you doing, Kaldur?" she murmurs softly, hands resting on her knee.
The stoic Atlantean boy nods silently to her, elbows on his knees, hands hanging astray. Black Canary fleetingly wonders if he must ever wish he could interlace his fingers, could entwine digits with another. The webbing between his fingers is pale and streaked with delicate blue veins.
"They are still…" He glances over his shoulder at the doorway leading into the kitchen and exhales, eyelids lowering. "Everyone is silent. We do not speak to one another of what happened, nor of anything else." He tilts his head downwards and mutters under his breath, "Everything has forever changed."
"I'm not asking about them, Kaldur," Black Canary tells him with a quirked smile. "I'm asking about you."
"Your concern touches me," he attempts to assure her, all limbs still. "It truly does. However, I am not who matters here. It is the others. They—"
"You matter as much as they do," Black Canary insists, leaning back in her chair. "Just because you're their leader doesn't mean you can't feel."
"Do not interpret my emotions incorrectly," Kaldur whispers, hands tightening. "I certainly feel. But it is not the time to feel. I must be there for my team."
"Kald—"
"For my friends," he finishes, and though his voice is low and raw, it is still more emphatic than Black Canary has heard it in quite a while.
Black Canary says nothing, trying to ignore the sour feeling in her chest. Kaldur's gills flutter without purpose, shiny and dark and cold-looking.
"In Atlantis," he begins, but then stops himself for revision. "In my home, the most honored and respected of all heroes, the most admired… were those who had sacrificed themselves in battle. I was trained to understand that dying for one's comrades was more acceptable and esteemed than anything else; it was… noble. I had always thought, if I must die, let it be for the lives of many. Let it be for others, so that I may be remembered as a hero."
He runs his nail-less fingers over each other, tracing the webbing between them pensively.
"I had not yet learned that this was not a common practice on the Surface. The people here are preoccupied only with self-sufficience, with individual livelihood. There is no collective, no sense of wholeness. I was supposed to stay alive, according to Batman, because I was important. I was the one who should have led this team. But I thought I had done what was good and right. I thought—"
Black Canary is startled by the fact that the previously calm waterfall behind her suddenly swells and burbles as Kaldur clenches his fists.
"If I had only attempted to understand the gravity of Surface battle traditions," he chokes out, "perhaps my Team would not have been so lost. But I had imagined that they would not grieve me, for one absent drop does not trouble the sea. The sea moves on, for it is whole, as Surface-dwellers can never be. And I feel as if I do not belong up here, where all things are so heavy and selfish."
He bows his head, and places a hand on his chest, about where his lungs would be.
"These bear such a cumbersome weight," he croaks. "They fill me with grief."
He curls in around the spot, shoulders surging forward, and closes his fingers into a fist.
"But it is a weight I must carry," he finishes with a forlorn sigh, and the fingers unravel, dropping down to dangle from his side. "If I am truly to remain on the Surface, as I have chosen, then…"
"Did you make that choice because you had to, or because you wanted to?" Black Canary asks gently. "I know that Batman can occasionally be… coercive when it comes to leadership."
"He is not in the wrong," Kaldur tells her very sincerely. "It is I who… I made the decision to devote my time to the Surface because of…" He lowers his head, and Black Canary thinks that she might see tears glistening at the edges of his milky eyes. "I hope you will forgive me for not telling you."
Black Canary nods empathetically.
"You're not required to tell me anything, Kaldur," she reassures him, putting her chin in one hand as she regards him.
"Batman wants you to help us overcome our sorrows, is that correct?" Kaldur demands, almost bitterly. "If that is so, then we are indeed required to speak."
"Batman didn't make me do anything," Black Canary states, and it's the truth. "I volunteered. I care about you. All of you."
"I am certain that you do." Kaldur nods. "And I care for my Team very deeply, for we are what is whole and bottomless. We are together, in all things great or small. And yet, in the wake of devastation, I sacrificed myself for the betterment of the many. I had—"
He puts his head in his hands, and the webbing stretches out across his forehead like silk.
"It was selfish of me," he confesses, voice hoarse. Black Canary has the brief thought that he has been crying. "I had wanted to perish nobly. I had wanted my death to be as I had imagined when I was young. Heroic. Selfless. I had wanted to be remembered. And yet I was not. I was resented. My Team fell without me at their sides, and I wish so desperately that I could change that. If we fall, we fall as one. This is a lesson I have learned too late." He finally looks her in the eye, and Black Canary is not unnerved by the uncanny nacreous surface of his irises. "Do you understand?"
Black Canary resists the urge to lean forward and put her hand comfortingly on his shoulder.
"I do," she murmurs.
The waterfall quiets.
"I let them down," he admits, shoulders tightening infinitesimally in shame. "I was the general, but I behaved like a soldier and sacrificed myself. I am not fit for command—"
Black Canary's eyes widen. She is about to protest, but the sinking reminder that it is not her place silences her.
"—and must resign as Team leader." There is no wavering inflection in his voice, no hesitation or regret. His eyes are closed. He seems to be years older, face worn and covered in newly hewn lines. The resolution in his tone clenches her heart like a steel fist, but she reveals nothing of the sort.
"Who do you recommend to take your place?" she inquires calmly.
"Artemis is too raw and untrusting," Kaldur tells her, eyebrows touching in deep pensiveness. "Kid Flash, too rash and impulsive." (Black Canary tries not to snort and fails.) "Miss Martian remains… too eager to please. Superboy carries too much anger."
"Making Robin the logical choice," Black Canary finishes for him.
Kaldur's eyes widen, as if he feels a surge of terror at the conclusion he has just caused her to reach.
"He is so young." His voice is terribly despondent, perhaps even pitying.
"Kaldur," Black Canary whispers, and she leans forward. "You're all young."
Kaldur exhales, and Black Canary has never heard breath sound so unnatural or forced.
"I cannot shift this burden to him," Kaldur concludes with nothing to indicate his regret but a flicker of grief that passes over his face like a wave. "Not yet. It appears I must withdraw my resignation."
"Kaldur," Black Canary says, and throws caution to the winds to place her hand on his shoulder, which is peculiarly cool and a little damp, though not from perspiration. It creeps up her fingertips and replenishes her. "Off the record. You are a valuable asset to this Team, and they all care about you very much, even though they don't show it. I know the surface isn't your true home, but you can try to make it a surrogate with this Team next to you. It's like you said, you're all part of something whole, and if one of you leaves, there's always going to be a part of it missing. Even the ocean can't replace some of the things it loses."
Kaldur nods slowly, eyes sliding to her hand on his shoulder. A trace of a smile, resigned and a bit sad, appears at the ends of his lips, and he closes his eyes, sighing.
"I will attempt to be there for them, as you will be," he says with a grateful nod. "And – off the record… thank you for taking care of my T—my friends."
Black Canary shrugs, smiling.
"Hey. That's what I'm here for. Once I'm done wiping the floor with you, you can all come crying to me for comfort."
Kaldur permits himself a breath of a chuckle, and Black Canary takes her hand off of his shoulder.
"You can go if you like."
He considers her offer before standing, inclining his head towards her in gratitude.
"Thank you for understanding," he maintains as he exits. "Thank you for… thank you."
She hears the door close behind him and reclines in the chair, letting out a long sigh to rejuvenate herself. Two hours and she's already not sure if she can keep going with this.
She glances at her sheet of names and her eyelids go low with anticipation as she puts it back in her pocket and strides to the door. She pulls it open, and the Team is still loitering out there, unmoving and silent. She disregards the unpleasant pressure in her gut at the sight of them.
"Robin, honey," she calls softly, and the Boy Wonder's head jerks up towards her, his sunglasses flashing. "Come on in."