Year Seven: Bridges
Author's Note: Holy crap, this story is getting long.
Supreme Court Refuses to Hear Luthor Appeal
Published November 3, 2019 / James Olsen
METROPOLIS, N.Y. – Death inched closer to Alexander Luthor on Tuesday, when the U.S. Supreme Court rejected the best legal chance the convicted murderer had left to avoid execution.
Luthor was sentenced to die for killing thirty-six people two years ago in Denver, although the former CEO of LexCorp insists he was framed by Superman.
In a list of unsigned orders issued Tuesday, the nation's highest court said it would not hear the last appeal Luthor is legally guaranteed, bringing an end to a very quick appellate process and clearing the way for an execution date to be set. Luthor, 48, may file further appeals, but they are not certain to delay his execution by much time.
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/-\
IT WAS THE ONE SENTENCE NO MAN EVER WANTED TO HEAR.
"We need to talk."
The previous times he'd heard this – from Lana in his senior year of high school, from Lori in college, from Chrissy when he was on walkabout – Clark had been caught completely by surprise. In each case, it was followed quickly by the 'it's not you, it's me' explanation, even though he knew that, no matter what they said, it was him. He was the weirdo, the freak who was so afraid of losing control that he was hesitant about initiating anything resembling physical intimacy, the guy who always had an excuse why they needed to wait, the strange one who just didn't fit in. With Lois, he'd almost thought they had avoided the issue thanks to her knowing about his otherworldly origins from day one, but, as time passed and he grew more powerful from constant exposure to the sun, their relationship suffered. Even before the incident with Ares and the subsequent super-charge by Apollo, though, he'd almost been afraid to touch her.
As much as he wanted to blame their lack of physical intimacy for this, though, the truth of the matter was they'd been drifting apart for a while now. Their respective jobs certainly did not help – everyone knew Lois was Perry's heir apparent, even Lombard who wanted the position so bad it hurt, and Clark was spending more time in the cape than he wasn't. Long ago, they'd agreed to avoid discussing politics – though she hid it really well, Lois actually did believe in a benevolent and helpful government, while Clark trended more toward the libertarian stand on things thanks to his parents, both of whom were rather vocal about their desire to just be left alone – and Lois was almost contemptuous toward football, which Clark still thought to be the greatest game on the planet, even with all the wussification rules that had been forced onto it. Hell, he'd gone to more games with Bruce or Diana than he had with her … what kind of American didn't want to go to the Super Bowl? And their tastes in music? That was best left untouched – she'd agreed that as long as he didn't play Johnny Cash in her presence, she would avoid inflicting that urban hip-hop stuff on him. Food was another thing they argued over – she lived on fast food and takeout, while his travels after his dad's passing had given him a newfound appreciation for home-cooked meals.
But the biggest point of contention between them was children. He wanted them, she didn't.
"I'm not mother material," Lois had insisted each time he brought up the idea of them adopting down the road. Oh, there was never any thought of them actually having a child together, not with the fundamental differences in biology; as far as he could tell, based on genetics alone, the only person on the planet who could bear his child was Kara and even it wasn't creepy as hell, it wasn't remotely an option. He'd hoped that, with enough time, Lois would change her mind but if anything, she'd only hardened in her resolve to not be a mother. Her sister's daughter only cemented her theory and, as much as he hated to, Clark had to admit she was pretty incompetent when it came to little Lacey…
So here they were, alone in her apartment for what would very likely be the last time.
"We need to talk," Lois repeated. She looked as uncomfortable as he felt, but Clark smiled.
"No, we don't," he replied. "You think we should see other people." Lois' expression crumpled and she collapsed onto her couch.
"I'm sorry," she started, but Clark knelt in front of her, a sad smile on his face.
"I think we both knew this was coming," he said.
"I feel awful," Lois mumbled. "You deserve someone who can love you for you, not … that." She punctuated her statement by touching the House of El sigil on his chest. Clark smiled again – in the last couple of months as they tried to work through their problems, she'd been quite vocal about her self-disgust that she was attracted more to the super than to man. He didn't hold it against her, not with his growing realization that he was drawn more to the ideal she represented than anything else.
"And you deserve some idiot who thinks that golf is actually a sport," he replied lightly. Despite the situation, Lois laughed out loud. Without warning, she threw herself forward and wrapped both arms around him. He suspected she was hugging him as tightly as possible … but he barely even felt anything.
"I don't want to lose my best friend," she whispered. Clark smiled.
"You won't." With exaggerated caution, he returned the hug. "I'll always be around."
He left a little bit later after promising to have dinner with her this weekend. To his surprise, he wasn't sad or angry or even confused. In fact, all he felt was a sense of relief. He still loved Lois – he counted her as one of his closest friends, on the same level as Diana and Bruce – but he wasn't in love with her and probably hadn't been for a long time. They were just too different in all the ways that really mattered and, for some stupid reason, he'd been feeling like he was holding her back somehow. He knew it was a dumb thought, but just couldn't shake it.
What did bother him, though, was how … isolated he was becoming from humanity in general. Most of his close friends were metas – or close enough in Bruce's case; Clark knew walking nuclear reactors and men with wishing rings who were afraid of the scary man from Gotham who didn't have powers – and now, he was once again alone in the world. He shook his head – that wasn't entirely true, was it? He had family now, even if it wasn't quite the kind he'd dreamed about. And if Kara's theories were correct about their longevity under a yellow sun, they would be family for a very long time. Would it be enough in two hundred years when everyone he knew was long gone? What about five hundred, when they were all dust? Sometimes, he dreamed of standing in an endless graveyard, each headstone representing someone he knew who had died of old age. Already, he could see it coming true – he was a few months away from hitting his fortieth birthday (or at least the day his parents chose to celebrate as his birthday; for all he knew, he might have already passed that mark) and he looked almost exactly the same as he had since hit twenty-five. Pretty much everyone he knew was getting older and he was standing still.
Never before had Clark felt this lonely.
He knew it was stupid to feel that way – life had a strange way of changing everything when he wasn't looking and just thinking about the future always made his head hurt; curiously, it also made the ring finger of his right hand tickle, but it had done that since he was a teenager and he still didn't know why – but man, sometimes it was hard to see the bright side of things at moments like this. Everyone expected him to be the Man of Steel, with a ready smile and enough power to shatter planets but the wisdom to not abuse it. None of them seemed to care that he wanted the same thing everyone else did as long as he was there when the sky was falling.
Clark sighed. And pushed the thoughts away. There would be time to feel sorry for himself later. Right now, he had work to do.
A few hours later, after he dealt with a runaway winged dinosaur-dragon thing in Russia and a mid-air emergency involving a 747 out of Australia – two of the engines failed and the pilots nearly panicked when the third started showing signs of going out too – he dropped out of the sky and landed lightly on the property that had once belonged to his parents. One of the very first things he'd done with the money earned from the medical breakthroughs thanks to his Kryptonian studies was to pay off the back taxes; he'd even bought out the surrounding farms which had been mostly abandoned. He'd reinvested a lot of capital into the Smallville economy by hiring locals to handle the day labor and it wasn't like it took him much time to actually do the work if no one else was available. Besides, the extra space gave him a little privacy Metropolis didn't afford him and also gave him the chance to experiment with some new farming methods stolen (although he preferred the term 'borrowed') from the Amazons. The smell of something burning made him smirk as he opened the front door and entered. Kara glared at him from the kitchen.
"This would be easier if you allowed me to install-"
"No," Clark interrupted firmly. "My house, my rules." He smiled at her foul expression. "I'm not making you use your heat vision to cook that … whatever it is," he pointed out. "There's a perfectly good oven sitting there."
"The princess insists that I use my abilities until they are second-nature," Kara replied. Her instinctive use of Diana's title made Clark smirk; he didn't know what the Amazon had done to beat sense into his cousin, but it had worked fairly well. He honestly didn't think he'd ever heard her use Diana's actual name – it was always 'the princess' this and 'the princess' that. Kara rubbed her temples. "I still do not have the fine control of my vision abilities that you do." Abruptly, she frowned. "I thought you were visiting that Lois person tonight." The distaste in her voice was palpable and Clark nearly winced. Evidently, she'd still not forgiven a certain Daily Planet reporter for hanging the unfortunate sobriquet of Supergirl upon her. When she learned that Clark was romantically involved with Lois, things had become even more uncomfortable. For some reason, he had no desire to tell his cousin about the decision he and Lois had just made.
"Something came up," he said simply. "What exactly were you trying to cook anyway?" Kara blushed.
"Pancakes," she admitted softly. "Though my results have been less than optimal." Clark laughed.
"Here," he said with a grin. "Let me show you what you're doing wrong."
/-\
There was something going on with her cousin.
For the last week, ever since he had returned from Metropolis earlier than expected, he had been … different. Kara was unable to put her finger on what exactly it was that had changed about him, but something was undeniably altered. He still teased her in a way that seemed impossible for a boy who should have been, at best, three or four years old according to her sense of time, and still squandered his talents with this ridiculous Warrior guild charade in the hostile environment hard-suit, and even continued to waste time with this Clark Kent identity, but his smile was not quite as quick as before and he had a tendency to be more silent than she thought he should.
Her attempts to decipher the source of the change proved to be fruitless. Whether it was his continued friendship with that Bat character in Gotham or the thirty-plus years of hiding his true nature from humans, Kal-El quite successfully concealed whatever was consuming so much of his mental bandwidth. The plus to that, however, was his lack of attention to her activities – he'd barely noticed when she quietly announced her intent to do some traveling now that the princess announced her martial skills were 'no longer completely hopeless.' With Kal-El not paying adequate attention, she'd snuck out so she could see this planet he was so obsessed with protecting.
Today was Fawcett City, the largest metropolitan settlement in the American northwestern state of Minnesota and, according to her internet studies, the home of the best cheesecake in the nation. There were other things she wished to investigate – the campus of the University of Minnesota, for example, as well as the various art museums since, according to her late father, a culture could be judged by the kind of art it displayed – but, if she were truly honest, it was the cheesecake that interested her the most. Krypton had nothing like it and she both cursed and thanked Kal-El for introducing her to it.
The large black sunglasses she wore covered a substantial portion of her face – where did Kal-El get those glasses he wore? – and her hair was mostly tucked under a wide-brimmed hat that was, according to the entertainment news, what girls her age wore this year, so Kara was not especially concerned about being identified. Her continued disinterest in acting like a Warrior continued to prevent the erroneously named Supergirl from gaining much notoriety, and that certainly helped her walk alongside humanity without causing the kinds of reactions her cousin or even the princess might.
"Double-slice caramel cheesecake up," the heavyset man with the expertly groomed beard announced from behind the counter of the ludicrously decorated pasty shop. Kara paid, using the credit card Kal-El had provided her, and then retreated to a corner table with her delicious prize. She was the only customer present at the moment, though that changed several moments later when a scruffy-looking, dark-haired boy entered. He was, by her reckoning, Donna's age or perhaps a little younger, and there was the same kind of hard-won weariness in his eyes. By the threadbare look of his clothes, he was likely destitute or at least severely impoverished, though that did not stop him from ordering a triple-slice of the same cheesecake Kara was enjoying.
"No charge, Billy," the bearded man said with a smile. When the boy started to frown, the older man continued. "Happy birthday, buddy."
"I don't want a handout," the young man said softly. A human would not be able to hear them from where she sat, but to Kara, they might as well have been shouting. By Rao, this planet was noisy.
"And I'm not offering you one." The bearded man pushed the cheesecake forward. "It's your birthday, son. You deserve something nice."
After some further grumbling, the boy grudgingly accepted the gift and took a seat at the nearest table. He ate slowly, alternately his attention between the food and Kara herself. Discomfort began to set in as his looks lasted longer, and Kara considered eating faster. She could finish this heavenly concoction and be gone before he began harassing her. That option vanished a moment later.
"Nobody move!" The would-be robber who burst through the door held his pistol at the ready and the desperation in his eyes was only a fraction less intense than the fear on the bearded man's face. Kara tensed fractionally – she was quite certain she could neutralize this quickly, but knowing how to fight and actually getting into fisticuffs were two entirely different matters. If she misjudged the force of a punch, she could easily kill this man. She glanced around for something else and her eyes fell on the dark-haired young man.
He hadn't moved.
In fact, he continued to eat as if there was not an armed gunman mere steps away from him, though it was quite obvious that he was aware of the criminal. The boy watched him steadily, chewing calmly and frowning. He swallowed.
"You've got to be kidding," he said simply. When the older man swung the pistol toward him, the boy placed his fork down on his table. "I mean, really … who robs a cheesecake store?"
"Shut up and put your wallet on the table!"
"Do I look like I've got a wallet?" The boy shook his head. "Come on, man. Things are tough for all of us, but this? This is just stupid." The criminal glared.
"If you don't shut up," he snarled, "I'm going to put a bullet between your eyes."
"You'd risk life in prison for a cheesecake store and a mouthy kid?" The dark-haired boy shook his head again. "Dude, you've lost your mind."
"I'm warning you!" The would-be shooter took a step closer.
"Think this through, man," the boy continued. "I know how rough things are right now but this isn't the answer." Kara's eyes narrowed as she found a suitable way to neutralize this situation. With one more step, the criminal would be underneath one of the deactivated fans hanging from the ceiling by a fist-sized cable. By the sound of the stressors she could hear, the fan was of substantial weight and would serve her purpose perfectly. She grimaced – there was absolutely nothing more uncomfortable than doing this – and focused on the ever-present heat lurking just behind her eyes as she lowered her sunglasses. It was painful – Rao, it stung! – but she felt the brief spurt of fire flash from her eyes. It sliced through the cable holding the fan and, with a loud crash, the heavy thing fell, crashing into the would-be robber with a loud thunk. He collapsed with barely a sound though a quick scan of him assured Kara that he was still alive. She exhaled softly in relief.
Absolute silence reigned for a long moment. The bearded man behind the counter leaned forward, breathing heavily – his heart rate was too high for someone of his age and girth, though it was beginning to slow – but the dark-haired boy studied the fallen man, then glanced up to the ceiling. He frowned before carefully kicking the unconscious man's gun away.
"You better call the cops, Danny," he said. Very carefully, he glanced in Kara's direction, but he never spoke.
The law enforcement officers arrived soon after – Kara wanted to leave long before that, but this 'Linda Danvers' identity Kal-El had provided for her would not have done that, so she waited – and took their statements once they secured the criminal in a pair of wrist-cuffs. As soon as they gave her permission, Kara ducked out of the shop and fast-walked away.
To her concern, the boy followed.
She silently cursed herself for not being adequately familiar with the city layout as he somehow managed to keep her in sight at all times. Despite the cold air, there were more than enough citizens to make blurring to safety a bad idea, which also removed the option of flight. Finally, she turned down an alley and let the boy approach. He smiled.
"Hi," he said. "That was a neat trick," he said. "Does it hurt coming out of your eyes like that?" Icy shock washed through her and she used her perfect recall to remember the moment. His seat … oh, Rao … he had a perfect view of her reflection! She glowered …
And blurred forward to grab him by the throat.
He grunted when she thrust him back against the brick wall. Despite her fear and momentary anger, she was still careful not to injure him too terribly as she leaned forward and met his eyes.
"Give me one good reason why I should let you go," she hissed. Threats were not normally her style – Donna was clearly a very bad influence on her – but this fool had surprised her! He grinned.
"One reason?" he asked. "I can give you one word." His smile widened at her confusion and he looked up. "Shazam!" he shouted.
Lightning boomed overhead, even though it was a perfectly clear day, and a solid lance of light stabbed downward, enveloping the boy and throwing her back. Instinctively, Kara threw up her arms to defend herself – her ears were ringing and her vision danced – but nothing happened. She blinked the spots away and looked at the boy.
Or rather, she looked at the man standing where the boy had been. He stood silently, at least as tall as but even broader than Kal-El, with thick, meaty arms and clothes that had been completely transformed. A golden lightning bolt was emblazoned upon his chest and the scarlet of his shirt and pants was even brighter than the cape her cousin wore. His face was different as well, though it seemed obvious to her that he was still the same person, only aged by ten or fifteen years.
"I'm going to go out on a limb here," he said in a deep baritone, "and guess you're Superman's cousin?"
"Captain Marvel," she said with some surprise. "You're him." The big man offered his hand in a gesture she'd come to recognize.
"That's what they call me," he said softly as he glanced over his shoulder. No one was close enough to hear him, but several of them were pointing. "Welcome to Fawcett City." He was about to say something else when a distant siren of some sort began sounding. Without a word, he sprang up into the air, an annoyed look on his face.
And, after barely a second of consideration, Kara followed him, the hard-light hologram hiding her bodysuit falling -El would not hesitate to lend assistance and she would not shirk from his example.
They reached the source of the alarm in seconds – it was a lending institution with the name Wells Fargo prominently displayed in giant, golden letters and the moment they identified it, a trio of armed criminals rushed from inside, each carrying large bags. The lead man froze at the sight of them, and the second stumbled into him before following the direction of his gaze. Marvel grinned broadly as he floated in mid-air, crossing his arms over the prominent lightning bolt he wore. Kara slowed to a stop several meters to his left but kept her arms at her side so the House of El crest could easily be identified. All three of the criminals glanced toward a waiting car and Kara focused on the heat behind her eyes. Instantly, one of the vehicles' front tires burst apart and the driver's eyes widened.
"There are a number of ways this can go, guys," Captain Marvel said loudly. "One of them involves you being admitted to the hospital with broken bones, heavy bruising and a persistent ringing in your ears that just won't go away."
"Not to mention," Kara interjected, "second degree burns." She focused on the heat once more and a second tire blew. Marvel snapped his fingers.
"Right!" he exclaimed. "I'd forgotten about that!" He smiled again. "The other option," he continued, "involves handcuffs but no broken bones."
"How about you shut the hell up before I shoot this bitch," a new voice called out. A fifth robber pushed his hostage out of the bank, his pistol pushed harshly against his captive. Instantly, Kara tensed. She drifted away from Marvel, who had dropped his friendly smile and was instead watching the gunman with the intensity one dedicated to an especially dangerous animal. His entire body was poised and ready for action.
"And there's the jackass," the Captain said. His eyes flickered very briefly to Kara and he shifted slightly in the air, putting a little more distance between them. "I figure you've got about thirty seconds before this gets really ugly, man."
"Uglier than it already is?" The gunman pushed his hostage forward, sparing a brief glare at his compatriots who had already tossed aside their own firearms.
"Oh, yeah." Marvel glided a few inches forward but stopped moving the instant the gunman shoved the gun closer to the girl. "You have no idea how ugly this can get." He rolled his head, audibly cracking his neck with pops that were just shy of gunshots in terms of percussion. The criminal stared at him, visibly torn between fear and awe. He barely seemed to notice that Marvel had slid another foot away from Kara, or that she was still drifting closer to the bank itself. By her calculations, the man's peripheral vision was inadequate to watch them both and Marvel was doing an exceptional job of drawing attention to himself. "Now," the Captain said with a smile that didn't touch his eyes, "I'm going to give you one reason how this could end up badly." Kara blinked at the strange emphasis in his words, then quickly deciphered his meaning. Her estimation of his mental faculties increased – they had only just met and already he was capable of speaking to her in a shorthand the criminal could not comprehend. "And that reason is … Supergirl."
Kara blurred.
The criminal inexplicably tried to wheel his firearm toward her – as if this primitive weapon would do more than tickle – but was clearly unprepared for just how fast a Kryptonian could move under a yellow sun. By the time he registered her presence, she had already gripped the barrel of the firearm and squeezed, crumpling the metal into useless slag. Just to make sure the weapon was rendered completely useless, she tugged it away from him, her far superior strength causing him to stumble toward her while losing his hold on his hostage. Captain Marvel was there in an instant – like her, he blurred forward, almost seeming to teleport from one location to the next – and he casually steadied the terrified girl with one hand while dropping the other on the criminal. There was no way the man would be going anywhere.
"I did warn you," he said as the criminal stared in horror at the mangled mess Kara left of his pistol.
A phalanx of law enforcement personnel swarmed the bank within moments, but the would-be robbers were already face down and waiting. The authorities seemed to know Marvel from the way they greeted him – Kara was unsure whether it was approval or annoyance in their faces, but none of them looked at him with fear like they did her. Or, for that matter, the way some people looked at her cousin right after he had saved their lives. She gave a quick statement – two in the same day; she wondered what Kal-El would think – and took the air as soon as possible.
"Hey," Marvel called out. He joined her, moving easily through the sky with a grace she still had not mastered. "Thanks for the assist back there," he said with a grin. He offered his hand once again. "We got interrupted before, but I'm Billy. Billy Batson." Her surprise must have shown on her face. "If I can't trust Superman's cousin," he said, "who can I trust?"
"My name is Kara." She shook his hand and returned his smile with one of her own. "Kara Zor-El."
/-\
Through a hole in reality, two refugees appeared.
Wind and lightning presaged them, the former so intense that it flipped over a car and threw it into a wall while the latter tore great divots from the concrete. The vortex itself appeared without warning, first seeming to be only a tall, vertical line that slowly rotated into an open hole that looked upon a world with red skies. Fire and hail rained down upon the surface of that world, detonating with fierce explosions or columns of living flame. The crimson skies were crisscrossed with hundreds of flying creatures and great, floating barges of war, all seemingly dedicated to breaking the world.
And from this maelstrom tumbled two women.
One was clad entirely in white and red, with short-cropped blonde hair and ample bust, while her ally was dressed entirely in black and purple, with only a white cross dominating the hardened cuirass encircling her torso. Both were battered and bruised, with burns and still bleeding cuts prominently displayed; the dark-clad woman in particular seemed barely conscious as she slid to a stop on the concrete road, but the other woman twisted in mid-air where she floated for a moment, her eyes red and her hands clenched. The portal continued to rotate, growing smaller with each moment, and cerulean lightning danced around its perimeter, flickering and flashing and growing ever more erratic. The woman's eyes widened and, with blurring speed, she darted toward her unmoving companion, scooped her up with no discernible difficulty, and then sprang up into the night sky. They rocketed away from the collapsing portal.
Within seconds, it vanished completely, exploding with a ground-shaking boom that set off car alarms for miles and rattled windows for easily twice that distance. The blonde woman glanced back as she carried her insensate companion and blinked at the sudden appearance of a man in red at the portal site. If she didn't know better, she would swear that it was Wally standing there, but he was gone less than a heartbeat later, so she was not able to confirm her desperate hope. Instead, she continued climbing, angling sharply toward the tallest of the buildings in this unfamiliar city. Once she reached its roof, she lowered her ally to the surface and gave her a quick scan. Relief set in – nothing was broken, there was no internal bleeding, and all of her injuries were superficial – and she sank down next to the dark-clad girl in bone-deep exhaustion.
Her name was Karen and she had just watched her world die.
"Where are we?" came a soft, pained voice some time later. Karen jolted awake from a light doze – she wasn't sure how much time had passed, but the sky was brighter so she guessed an hour or two – and glanced down at her friend.
"It looks like Central City," she said. The comment caused an understandable frown – in their world, most of the entire American Midwest was gone. Central City had been ground zero when one of the first Flash's rogues went insane and lost control of his weather-based powers nearly fifteen years ago. Karen turned her eyes to the sky and concentrated on her enhanced vision. A moment later, she grimaced. "I don't think we're in the right place, Helena," she muttered.
"Right place or right time?" Helena Wayne, known as Huntress when she was wearing the black and purple, pushed herself into a seated position with a soft groan. Time travel had been their original intent with the desperate hope they could warn the Justice Society about the impending invasion before it was too late.
"Both, maybe." Karen gestured toward the sky. "The constellations are out of place," she said, "so we're definitely at least close to the right time, but there are satellites that shouldn't be there and a Kryptonian space station that I've never seen before." She closed her eyes and tilted her head to focus her enhanced hearing. It took a few moments to sift through the sheer noise, but finally, she isolated the sound of a radio morning show.
"And in our League Watch," she heard one of newscasters remark, "Superman and Wonder Woman met with the United Nations yesterday but refused to comment on questions about whether the Justice League would be further expanding its roster."
"Do you think the rumors about him and Wonder Babe are true?" another radio personality interjected with a smirk in his voice. "I know if it was me-"
"We're definitely not in the right place," Karen said as she refocused her hearing. "The news people are talking about a Justice League." She shook her head. "Let's get you healed up and then figure out what to do next. Maybe they can help."
"Maybe." Helena grimaced as she shifted where she sat. "We'll need some clothes," she started. Karen grinned.
"You'll need some clothes," she quickly corrected before tapping her belt. The hard-light projector built into her suit sparked and flickered, briefly altering her appearance to a more civilian one before failing completely. Helena snickered.
"You were saying?"
"We'll need some clothes," Karen repeated sourly. As much as she loved Earth, she hated wearing human clothes. They always felt weird to her, though she was never quite able to put her finger on why. Her mood soured even more when she realized they would need to steal them. From the look on her face, Helena recognized the train of her thoughts.
"You need to think out of the box," she said. "Use those super senses of yours, find a crack den, smash it open and take the money from them." Karen gave her a flat look.
"What's this?" she asked wryly. "You don't have a Bat Dimensional Credit Card Thing in that utility belt of yours?" She pushed off the roof and floated a foot or so above it, scanning the city with her enhanced senses. There. That looked like a good place to start. "I'll be right back," she said before throwing herself toward the rundown part of town.
"Like I'm going to go anywhere," she heard Helena mutter.
At the last moment, Karen changed her mind about how to approach this and climbed back into the sky so she could observe for a little bit longer. Normally, she'd just kick in the front door, toss all of the scumbags around until they finally got the point that their pop guns were useless, fry the drugs themselves with her heat vision, and then leave, but if a Flash actually lived in this city, then he could be there the instant someone reported a flying woman and she wasn't ready to answer questions just yet.
From a bank of clouds, she watched the goings-on for a solid thirty minutes, identifying where they kept the majority of their product and their ill-gotten money. Fortunately for her, they were both in the same room, buried deep in the middle of the small house. There was always one gunman present in that room, but like all the rest, he looked to be addicted to their product as well and thus, wasn't very effective. She waited a bit longer, noting that most of the dealers and guards were so stoned they probably wouldn't have noticed if she had walked in through the front door. Shaking her head in disgust, she acted.
With a titanic crash, she smashed through the roof of the central room, then blurred toward the startled guard and gave him a quick thump to the head with flick of her index finger. He slumped backward, already unconscious, and she tossed him onto a nearby loveseat that she then picked up and jammed against the door. Another blur took her to the stack of cash which she tossed into a nearby duffel bag that looked to be intended for this very purpose. She quickly scanned the rest of the room, her eyes automatically stopping at the threadbare long-coat tossed over the back of a chair. It barely fit but managed to cover up her suit which was all she really needed at the moment. Gathering the duffel, she looked at the carefully arranged piles of narcotics but didn't bother trying to identify them. Instead, she simply let her heat vision wash over them. A moment later, she was climbing back into the sky, fast enough that she'd be seen as little more than a streak to anyone looking. Behind her, she could hear the other druggies still trying to shove the door open.
The secondhand store she located was perfect for what she needed and the cashier didn't even blink when she paid in cash for the clothes she chose. Now dressed in the uncomfortable pants and shirt – she kept her costume's boots since they were far more comfortable than anything else in the store and didn't look that strange with her clothes – she then paid a visit to a second store where she bought some clothes for Helena. Finally, she hit a big chain store where she purchased a first aid kit, some groceries, and a paper.
Helena was still seated on the roof of the building when she returned, though she'd removed her mask and was using her cape to protect against the cold. Instantly, Karen cursed herself – temperatures so rarely bothered her, it had not even occurred to her that her friend might be freezing – and settled in next to her.
"Daily Planet?" Helena frowned at the paper. "I've never even heard of them."
"I looked around but couldn't find a Star," Karen replied as she used her heat vision on their food. Soon, it was bubbling hot. "Look on page two." Helena flipped open the paper and froze. "He looks like your dad to me," Karen said hesitantly. She really didn't need to say more as her friend read the article involving Bruce Wayne's thirtieth birthday bash in Gotham and how it was nearly spoiled by a pair of the city's most notorious rogues – Riddler and some moron calling himself Cluemaster; they weren't working together, but rather, seemed to be competing somehow – both of whom were taken into custody by police after the Batman beat them into submission.
"He's thirty." Helena shuddered. "My dad is only seven years older than me." She made another face. "That means my mom is two years older than I am. Ick."
"If it's any consolation," Karen interjected with a smirk, "I think your dad is pretty hot." Helena's expression was worth it so Karen continued. "I mean … look at that chin! And that smile! Totally hot!"
"You can stop at any time," Helena said with another dramatic shiver. She frowned. "He's still single," she remarked suddenly, ignoring the malicious grin Karen gave her. "Mom and Dad were already married in 2019 on our world." Helena glanced up. "Until we have a better grasp of what's going on," she said, "we should probably keep a low profile."
"They might be able to help." Karen tapped the front page of the paper and the picture of this world's Superman. He looked different than her cousin in some ways, the same in others, but just seeing the House of El symbol worn so prominently made her hopeful.
"They might," Helena agreed. "But how would they react if they knew how we got here? What we did?" Karen looked away – she wasn't proud of how they'd managed to activate this portal … but if she had to do it all over again, she wouldn't hesitate.
"All right," she said softly. "We give it some time." She frowned. "But let's keep the option open. This … Justice League might be able to help us."
Helena nodded, but did not reply. From her expression, Karen could tell her friend was already deep in thought and formulating plans and options. For all she insisted she was nothing like her father, Helena was very much a child of Bruce Wayne. And he always had a plan.
/-\
Gotham was strangely silent for a change.
Perched atop one of the taller buildings within the East End, Bruce stared quietly down at the activity taking place upon the streets of his city. Even now, at three in the morning, there was activity taking place as the night owls and criminals and late shifts transited to their destinations. Late night buses continued their lonely routes, rarely carrying more than one or two people, and police cars prowled the darkened neighborhoods, ostensibly watching for crimes but, in far too many cases, actually acting as lookouts for less than legal endeavors already underway.
Tonight, he was alone. Richard was at home, ostensibly recovering from his bout with the flu but in reality preparing for an upcoming football game, and Barbara was thankfully busy with family obligations. Under his cowl, Bruce frowned – he wasn't sure when it had happened, but his lonely crusade had become a three person act, with an acrobatic fifteen year old boy and a highly intelligent seventeen year old girl backing him up. Nearly two years had passed since Barbara first donned her own makeshift costume and joined the unending war on crime, and Bruce was still trying to talk her into early retirement. Richard also was uninterested in abandoning this life, even though it was not what Bruce wanted for him.
"My classmates watch Simpson reruns when they go home," he'd said with a grin. "I get to punch criminals in the face and dodge bullets." Bruce knew what he meant but still, he questioned the wisdom of letting the boy run around in a cape. At least he'd talked Richard out of having an all-yellow cape and bright green pants.
Barbara was another matter entirely. Knowing she was Jim Gordon's daughter was bad enough, but he had no emotional hold or role in her life outside the mask that could assist him in shutting her down. Even worse was Richard's encouragement of her – he'd been responsible for her obtaining a superior set of armor based on what he wore and, of course, he'd also accidentally let slip Bruce's identity when he thought she already knew it. Part of Richard's actions were fairly obviously rooted in his attraction toward Barbara, but he was also right when he argued how invaluable she'd been in a few of their investigations. Her skills on the computer were superior to even his and Bruce had unconsciously begun to delegate tasks and research he'd normally do to her.
"Now all you need is a Bat-dog and you'll be a nice, happy, mal-adjusted Bat-family," Clark had recently joked. He'd then started speculating on whether a certain burglar might consider trading in her cat ears for a bat cowl, at which point Bruce had walked away. It wasn't fair. Around everyone else, he could scowl darkly or give them an intimidating look that would cause stammers … but Clark either ignored him or outright laughed at him. Diana did something similar, though she more often gave him a counter-look that could only be defined as bemused.
The creak of sudden weight upon the not entirely steady scaffolding warned him that he was no longer alone, but he did not tense or react. Instead, he waited and tried to figure out why he wasn't worried. She was a criminal. She stole things, for fun and profit, yet he couldn't bring himself to shut her down like he did all of the others. Was it because he knew what she looked like under the mask? Because she knew what he looked like under the mask? Because they'd seen each other naked?
"You're out late, stud." Selina joined him at his perch, smiling at the scowl he wore. She leaned back against the railing, ignoring the ominous groan it gave, and crossed her arms. "If I didn't know better, I'd think you were stalking me."
"Why?" Bruce asked. "Have you done something wrong?" Selina laughed lightly.
"Today?" She shook her head. "No, today was very boring." With a suddenness that should have bothered him, she slid closer and pressed her lips against the side of his cowl. "I bet you could make it less boring though."
Overhead, ominous clouds gathered and silent lightning danced among the heavens. Bruce tensed – ever since Olympus, he'd looked at the skies differently, especially during storms; lightning caused him to flinch now, which it never had before – and Selina very clearly misinterpreted his reaction. Her smile dropped away and suddenly, she was glaring. She pulled her hand away.
"Your loss," she murmured before diving over the railing and plunging down the side of the building. Bruce could not help but to react – he half lunged to grab her, but by then, she was already gone – and he grimaced at his response. Already, he could hear her laugh drifting up to mock him and a moment later, he caught sight of her again as she swung away on a grapple line … a grapple line that had been on his belt moments ago. He barely bit back a curse. It was going to be a long climb down.
By the time he pulled back into the Cave, it was almost five in the morning and he was exhausted. Alfred was waiting silently beside the hydraulic ramp that slowly rotated the car back into place. The expression on his butler's face was as inscrutable as ever, but Bruce was almost convinced he saw Pennyworth's lip curve up slightly. As soon as he removed his cowl, Bruce noted the source of Alfred's amusement: Selina's lipstick stood out rather prominently against the black armor. It was a good thing nothing else had come up.
"A successful night, sir?" Alfred asked in that dry British manner. Bruce glowered.
"What do I have today?" he asked as he began removing the armor and placing it into the storage locker.
"Bruce Wayne is scheduled to attend this evening's shareholder's meeting, sir," Alfred replied, "although I do not think anyone will think it out of character if he misses it." Bruce exhaled in relief at that – there was nothing he hated more than those kinds of self-congratulatory gatherings. Meeting the shareholders was one thing, but the executive board had a tendency to turn these dinners into more political nonsense as they jockeyed for position and tried to outdo each other. If most of them weren't necessary, he'd throw them out on their well padded asses. "Providing, of course," Alfred continued with another twist of his lip, "he is seen at young Master Grayson's football game."
"That's tonight?" Bruce frowned. He thought it was … Friday. Today was Friday. Dammit. "Six o'clock," he said aloud, wincing at the thought of being in the presence of screaming parents who seemed intent on humiliating their offspring. He made a mental note to remind Richard not to draw too much attention to himself when he led his team to victory.
A message was waiting for him when he sat down in front of his computer via the untraceable email account he'd set up to communicate with Gordon and Bruce hesitated for a long moment before opening it. Three times in the last month alone he'd had to take down Joker after the psychopath escaped from Arkham and it only seemed like a matter of time before things went south again. Within the GCPD, there was even an unofficial 'shoot to kill' standing order that went into effect the instant Arkham reported his escape – Joker had actually been shot a dozen times now, but somehow, always managed to survive. The current mayor had even hinted in press conferences about making that official department policy … and Bruce honestly couldn't say he blamed him.
The message was simple: Approved, 2130.
Bruce leaned back in his seat and stared at the monitor for a long time. Finally, he closed it down, finished undressing, and went upstairs to get some sleep.
Richard's team crushed their opposing rivals, 42-7, with their star wide receiver (and former circus acrobat) personally responsible for three of the touchdowns. With the clock ticking down to his scheduled meeting, Bruce gave Richard permission to join the rest of the team for after-game pizza – he even slipped Grayson his credit card so none of the parents would have to worry about paying for the food – and then discreetly returned home where he donned his armor and cowl.
The previous night's hinted at storm arrived shortly before he reached Arkham, with the rain falling in heavy, fat drops that splattered against the car's windshield. Thus far, he'd resisted calling it the Batmobile like Richard did, but if he was honest with himself, Bruce actually thought of it that way now. Cold November air greeted him when he climbed out of the sleek vehicle and he strode toward the door, ignoring the nod Gordon gave him. The commissioner handed his empty coffee cup to the police officer who had driven him – Alvarez, Bruce thought it was – and then followed him in. The receptionist pointed the way, even though he knew it by heart; how many times had he trod this same path, bearing a laughing madman to a cell in the hopes this would be the last time? Another police officer waited outside Joker's cell – it was telling that none of the other inmates, not Harvey, not Ivy, not even Jones or Grundy warranted such extra security – and he saluted Bruce as he opened the door.
Joker sat in a mostly dark cell, seated at a metal desk bolted to the wall and the floor. The edges were rounded but even Croc would have had difficulty pulling it free. Moving quietly, Bruce watched as the white-skinned inmate continued his silent game of solitaire. He hefted the other chair – a wooden one, he noted; it was too easily breakable and should not be here, not with Joker and his proficiency with hand weapons – and then sat down across the table.
"Hello," he said darkly. "I came to talk."
/-\
He could not recall the last time he felt this relaxed.
Eyes closed, Clark leaned back in his chair and enjoyed the silence. Here, there was nothing to bother him, no incessant human noise that battered against his enhanced senses without pause, or the pressure to never misuse his superhuman abilities, or to always be there when people needed him the most. For the time being, he was utterly and completely alone, surrounded only by towering mountains, hard vacuum and a view to die for.
Yes, he decided. The moon was one of his favorite places to visit.
For the last five years, he'd made a habit of coming here for a couple hours every month or so – his record was a day and a half, but that was following a six month stretch where he'd been so damned busy both in and out of the suit he hadn't had time to get away – where he could just relax and let his ears recover. The solar visor was deployed but covered only his nose and mouth so he could breathe.
He'd already slept for several hours and was nearing the point where he really needed to get up and go back home, but the urge to just stay here for a little while longer was pretty overwhelming. What exactly did he have to go back to? A cousin that he really didn't know all that well who didn't share many of his morals or beliefs? A fortress of solitude … emphasis on solitude? A job he liked most of the time and loathed at others? Another job … that was the same. Not to mention a host of enemies who hated him just because he was different or had kicked their ass when they were trying to kill people? Yeah, staying here for a little while longer until he worked himself out of this foul mood seemed like a great idea.
The sudden change in atmospheric pressure caused him to react without hesitation; he was up, off his seat, body poised for battle, even before his eyes snapped open, but he relaxed almost at once at the sight of Diana. She was smirking at him, her left bracer shining and sparkling in the earthshine, and he realized that she'd reshaped her shield into a small dome around them. Clark blinked – he hadn't known she could do that. But then, Diana was always surprising him.
"Do you know how long it took me to find you?" she asked as she floated toward the other lawn chair. Originally, Clark had brought it up here for Kara, but she'd used it only once or twice as, somehow, she managed to cope with humanity's noise a lot better than he did. He didn't think that was fair at all.
"Kinda the point," Clark said with a smile. He lowered himself back to his seat before digging into the cooler and extracting a beer. Tossing it toward her, he leaned back. "It's my day off."
"Since when do you take vacations?" Diana asked. She took a long pull from the beer – it was her favorite and Clark wondered if she knew how much it annoyed Hal to be the person responsible for ensuring the Watchtower's supply of it was always stocked.
"You're one to talk," he replied with a smile. "I've barely seen you lately." Diana looked away and instantly, Clark wanted to kick himself. She'd never said it aloud and he would never ask, but Clark was fairly certain Ares had done more than smack her around last year. Once more, a terrible rage swelled up within him, but he pushed it back, swallowed it, and focused on erecting a wall of ice around it. Diana was strong – if she needed him, she'd tell him.
"Things have been … difficult," she admitted. The smile she gave him was a sad one. "Mother is more convinced than ever that you are Herakles reborn." Clark scowled and this time, it was he who looked away. What exactly did it take, he wondered, to convince that woman he wasn't a monster in the making? He come to her aid when she asked, fought a freaking Olympian god for her, and even made sure Bruce respected their stupid laws when Hermes teleported them to Themyscira. All he'd wanted to do was keep an eye on Diana while she recovered, but he'd kept his mouth shut and didn't push. "Pay no attention to her, Kal," Diana said as she reached out with one hand and placed it upon his arm. "She does not know you as I do."
"It's hard not to be insulted," he muttered, "when she lumps me in with that piece of crap."
"She judges all men by that standard, I fear." Diana glanced around and frowned. "Why do you come here?" she asked. "It is very … stark."
"It's quiet." He sighed. "Did you know I have to sleep in the Fortress now?" Diana shook her head. "Metropolis is too loud, even if I try to use one of Bruce's sensory deprivation chambers." He shrugged. "So I generally fly up to the Fortress and sleep there." He gestured at the barren moonscape. "Then, once a month or so, I come up here for a couple of hours. Nobody to bother me." He shot her a mock frown. "Up until a nosy Amazon insists on tracking me down and showing off with her not-magic forcefield bracelet." She rolled her eyes as he glanced around to look at the dome. "I didn't know you could extend it this far."
"I am experimenting with different applications of this very magic bracer." Diana was silent for a moment and when she spoke again, her voice was much softer. "Kal," she said, "I know we have not talked much since … since Ares." Clark instantly came alert and shifted to a seating position to face her, leaning forward slightly so she could tell he was giving her his undivided attention. To his surprise, she blushed slightly and glanced away momentarily. "And I know Mother never thanked you," she began.
"I didn't do it for her," Clark said automatically. "If the situation was reversed," he pointed out, "you'd do the same for me."
"I would." Diana inhaled and looked up. "Still, I cannot help but to feel I owe you my thanks." Clark grinned at her.
"It's what I do," he joked. "Beat up the bad guy, talk some crap to Bruce and save the girl." Diana's eyebrows shot up at that and he winced. "Shouldn't have said that last part, should I?"
"Probably not," she said with a smile of her own. "I am magnanimous, however, and shall forgive you."
"And that's why you're awesome," Clark replied. He glanced down, wondering if he should mention his suspicion about Athena. Her mastery of the Kryptonian language had been perfect, though some of the words she used when she tried to talk him down were archaic, even to an staid language like that of his biological parents. In the wake of that empty sleeper pod he'd noticed on the scoutship when he first discovered it, there seemed to be only one explanation.
"Would you have done it?" Diana asked abruptly. She was intentionally not looking at him. "Would you have killed Ares?" Clark's good mood faltered.
"Yes." The word came out harsher than he wanted it to. Even now, the anger, the fury, the seething rage pushed at him and made him regret bending to her wishes despite how hypocritical it made him. How many people had died because of Luthor's madness? How was he any different than Ares? Clark inhaled deeply and refocused on calming himself. "I'm glad it didn't come to that," he said, "but if you hadn't said anything, I would have killed him."
"I think … I think I would have as well," Diana murmured. She forced another smile on her face. "Do you have another beer?" she asked. "This one is empty." She tossed the bottle toward him and Clark caught it as it tumbled lazily through the zero-gee.
"As a matter of fact," he replied, "I do." He deposited the empty in the freezer and extracted the last two beers. Handing one of them to her, he waited until she'd opened it. They tapped the bottles together and drank. "So tell me," Clark said, "how are things going with Donna?"
They talked for another hour, with Diana regaling him with tales of her cousin's training and the misadventures the young girl got herself into. Clark had heard many of these stories from Kara, though they'd been told from the point of view of someone actively involved in many of these exploits, so hearing it from an outside observer cast them in a far more amusing light. By the time, she withdrew the not-magic forcefield back into her bracer so it surrounded only her, both of them were laughing so hard it hurt.
Minutes later, they breached Earth's atmosphere and Clark, braced for the wall of sound, flinched nonetheless. As expected, though, it was more than manageable. He blinked through the noise and half-turned to face Diana when he caught the snippet of a news broadcast that washed away all traces of amusement.
"Something's happened in Gotham," he said, reaching out for her hand. She accepted, even though it probably wasn't entirely necessary – in the last few years, her own speed had increased tenfold to the point that she could generally keep up with him unless he really tried to pour on the speed. Even so, that still not-magic forcefield she could extend to surround them both made flight even easier than normal.
They reached the Cave in minutes only to discover Richard seated before the great monitors. His face was stained with tears and he was mostly in costume – sans mask, of course – but he glanced up at their approach.
"He's at Northwestern Memorial Hospital," Grayson said.
"How bad is it?" Clark asked automatically. His heart sunk at the response.
"Bad."
"She might not walk again," Bruce growled when they joined him moments later. He wasn't in costume so both Clark and Diana had donned their own civilian attire, he by activating the hard-light holograms built into his suit, she by clashing her bracers together. Bruce was a little apart from where Jim Gordon sat outside his daughter's room – at a glance, Clark could tell the commissioner was not in great shape either physically or mentally. "The bullet is lodged against her spine – I'm flying in specialists now to see if they can remove it."
"If I can help," Diana said softly, "let me know." She walked away from them, angling toward Gordon. Clark watched for a long heartbeat, noting the exact moment Gordon observed her decorative bracers and intuited who she was. Gotham's police commissioner made no comment about it, though, and accepted her comfort with the expression of a man who might have just lost everything. His sharpness wasn't a terrible surprise – even though he didn't have any proof, Bruce was convinced the man knew who he was behind the cowl but saw The Batman as a necessary evil in a city like Gotham.
"Joker?" Clark asked softly. Instantly, Bruce's face contorted with rage, but he closed his eyes, breathed deeply and somehow found his center.
"In custody." The two words were nearly spat out. "I almost killed him, Clark." He glared at both fists. "No one would have blamed me if I had …"
"You would have blamed yourself," Clark replied. Automatically, he glanced toward Diana – she was speaking softly to Gordon – and his thoughts instantly drifted to the conversation they'd had not long ago. As the child of farmers, he knew that feral animals sometimes needed to be put down and the Joker was definitely that. No one would have thought ill of a police officer if he'd shot and killed Joker, but Clark had his doubts The Batman would get the same benefit of the doubt. That was another one of the reasons it was so important to set the example he strived for as Superman – the world cheered for them when they saved lives, but Clark had a terrible suspicion that their cries of joy would rapidly transform into screams of rage the instant heroes began killing. Fear would drive them and those more interested in personal power than the common good would ride that fear to places of authority.
Still, he tried very hard not to think about how close he'd come to killing Ares last year.
"How do I face him?" Bruce asked softly. He was looking at Gordon now, a stricken expression on his face and he walked away before Clark could respond. Frowning, Clark watched him go, wondering about the best way to help his friend. A moment later, though, his eyebrows shot up in surprise when he saw a dark-haired woman he recognized intercept Wayne and redirect him toward a chair where she sat with him, clinging to his hand. At any other time, Clark would have smiled at the sight of Selina Kyle and the open affection between the two (contrary to what Bruce always insisted), but today … today, he just wanted to hit something very, very hard.
But instead, he cautiously walked toward James Gordon and offered his hand.
"Clark Kent," he said, wincing at the automatic narrowing of the commissioner's eyes. "I'm a friend of Bruce's," he started.
"I know who you are," Gordon replied. There was a harsh edge to his words and Clark only hoped he was imagining the double-meaning. He glanced briefly toward Bruce – the flash of recognition in his face when he saw Ms. Kyle was undeniable, but he returned his eyes to Clark's. "Are you here for your paper, Mister Kent?"
"No, sir." Clark hesitated, not entirely sure what to say. As he looked at Gordon, he saw a man barely clinging to control, desperately afraid and looking for anything that might make things better. How many times had Bruce told him how amazing this man was? How courageous? According to Bruce, Jim Gordon was Gotham's own Horatius, standing at the bridge before the endless horde of madness the city had fallen into. And right now, that man needed hope. Without letting himself think it through, Clark removed his glasses – Diana inhaled sharply – and looked Gordon in the eyes. "However we can help, sir," he said, abandoning the instinctive hunch he'd started utilizing when wearing the glasses, "we will." Gordon looked at him, eyes wide, and finally nodded.
"Thank you," he whispered. Donning his glasses once more, Clark took a seat across from Gordon and leaned forward.
"Tell me about Barbara," he said. The commissioner breathed deeply.
And a moment later, he began to speak.
A/N #2: The Bat reference is obviously to The Killing Joke.
I mentally envision Dwayne Johnson as Captain Marvel. I swear, he was sculpted from rock (heh) for that very purpose...get cracking, DC!
If you don't recognize Helena and Karen, well ...
As with Metropolis replacing NYC, and Gotham replaces Chicago, Fawcett City replaces Minneapolis. Of course, it occurred to me after the fact that this means my version of DC won't have NY Yankees or Chicago Bears ... unintended consequences...
