Chapter 14

Tamara waved her staff over the pond, summoning the vision to appear before her. Colours swirled before her, taking shape, defined until she saw a familiar vision unfurl. The night set the ominous air across the battlefield that raged on the beach by Mount Justice. A swirling blue vortex raged above it, drawing howling winds into it, and below, soldiers of Hysteria and the Justice League battling. The vision sharpened again, focusing on Wally falling to his knees, clutching his side as blood streamed through his fingers, dripping onto the sand.

Leia appeared, dropping before him. Her eyes fell to his wound, then lifted sharply to him. She cupped his cheek, tears in her eyes, then said something before she kissed him briefly. Wally tried to grab her but he was weak, failing. Leia was up, turning, and as her eyes fell onto the Vortex, darkness bled into her eyes. She walked slowly towards the vortex, as if the battle raging around her was nothing, for she was lured by something greater. Energy radiated off her, thickening with every step, until darkness trailed in her wake in waves.

As she reached the place just beneath the raging vortex, she stopped and turned. The battle had stopped and all eyes were on her. She raised her hands, lifting waves of energy with it, then pointed it upwards to the vortex itself. Someone screamed from the crowd. Hysteria surged across the sand, like a demon with hell chasing after her, raising her hands to lash out. Leia was too fast, already possessed with the magic of her kin. One hand dropped, black energy shooting from her hand, swarming Hysteria. It yanked her forward, Hysteria flying forward, then caught by the throat. She was held there for a second, then Leia yanked her forward and Hysteria dissolved into Leia.

Leia's hand shot upwards and surged the energy into the vortex, drawing her upwards, lifting her up off the ground. Higher and higher she rose. Wally struggled to his feet and screamed her name but it was pointless. The light consumed Leia completely. The vortex exploded, energy surging outwards; then, as quickly as it had come, it rushed back into that singular point…

The vision ended before her. She sunk to her knees; her hands pressed into the soft earth. For several minutes, she lingered there, unable to move, weary. She was lost in her own mind, trying not to dwell on the future rushing to meet her. That, despite all her quiet machinations, trying to shift the future just slightly to save her friend's life…and Wally's heart, she was doomed to fail.

Leia's life was destined to end.

The warehouse floor was a hive of activity. Crates upon crates were loaded into the back of several large trucks, watched over by dozens of armed guards. The workers themselves moved quickly, their eyes down on the crates, focused on nothing else, risking nothing more. From high up in the rafters, shrouded in shadow and far enough away she could breathe easily, whisper even, without being overhead, Tamara watched on. She counted the boxes, caught sights of what was in them – well, in the few that were cracked open at random periods for inspections prior to loading. How Hysteria had even slithered into this new group, known vaguely and perhaps a little ironically as The Light, was one to ponder later. Somehow, she'd done just that and positioned herself as someone whom might obtain rare weapons for them. No doubt all she asked was to prove herself, free of charge. The key members of this cabal no doubt accepted readily, believing they'd acquired something pliable and gullible. Fools. Hysteria never did anything without careful planning and no doubt she was biding her time, determining the weaker members. Someone that could be removed, simply by removing the right players or components. A little sabotage here, a little more there, and she'd bring down the right members, all the while appearing as their saviour or willing problem solver. It wouldn't hurt she wouldn't flinch at any order of violence. Her resolve was too firm for that.

Tamara watched on until all the trucks were loaded, then one by one drove. The empty shipping containers were shut up and the workers were guided out through a side door. She started to rise from her crouched position when the door where the workers had vanished through opened again. A man strode through, wearing a fine red and black tunic, pants and glossy black boots. From her careful study she knew him instantly. The three scars across his face, worn like a badge of pride, were distinct, unforgettable.

Vandal Savage.

He stopped just beneath Tamara, before a guard that had walked to meet him. Tamara tapped her ear piece, tuning into the conversation below.

"Report," ordered Savage.

"All trucks are loaded sir. The shipment arrived to us on time and expect on time delivery. We have increased security both with the trucks and along the route, as per Hysteria's instructions." The man paused for a moment, then went on. "Sir, these weapons were taken from the factory they were made."

"I'm aware – is there a problem?"

"No, of course not. A compliment sir. With these we expect a good price at market, far higher than anything we've got before. There isn't any interest from the League either," he said.

Savage nodded. "This recent partnership looks to benefit us greatly. Inform me when the shipment is delivered."

With that, Savage's phone rang. He answered and walked back the way he came, the door shutting behind him. Tamara had what she needed, so she stood and grabbed her staff, which was fastened to her back. With care, she lifted it free and pointed it out, summoning a small and quiet portal. She dove through; on the other side she rolled and came to her feet in the living of the small apartment they were temporarily renting. Clint was at the dining table, sitting, with a needle and thread in hand, stitching a small but deep gash on his arm. Blood trickled down his arm, semi congealed. He looked up, shocked for a moment, then sheepish at being caught injured. She strode forward, worry erasing what she'd been about to say, and knelt before him, inspecting the wound. He was halfway through stitching it, so she carefully took the needle and continued herself. The whole time he was silent, in that familiar sheepish way of his, and the corner of his mouth kept twitching. The cheeky git was trying not to crack a joke, which made her biting back her own smile. Predictably, he cracked first.

"You're always there to patch me up," he said wryly.

She paused for a moment, peering at him from beneath her lashes; her gaze fell and she pushed the needle back in, a little harder so he flinched. The smile momentarily faltered. She finished and set the needle aside, then grabbed a small square of cloth and the bottle of pure alcohol. She dabbed the cloth generously, then looked up at Clint.

"Ready?"

"Try not to enjoy yourself," he said, smiling again.

She wiped the cloth across the wound, felt him flinch hard beneath her ministrations. His jaw remained clenched as she cleaned the wound and his arm. Only when she finished and stood he seemed to relax, exhaling, as if to release the pain.

"What happened?" She asked finally. "You haven't been caught out like this in years."

His face tightened; the smile gone. "I got distracted. I saw her. She didn't sense me because I was in the security system but just seeing her after what happened. Anyway, I stayed there until she got in a car and left the tower. When I took shape in the security rom to grab some hard data I got caught as I was leaving. Didn't get away as cleanly."

Tamara blinked. "She was there? Our intel suggested she was meeting with Queen Bee at her HQ, organising a shipment of chemicals for her."

"She did that, said as much to Queen Bee. Turns out that had been a quick trip and she was meeting with Lex Luthor instead," explained Clint. His expression hardened further, regret in his eyes. "I should've-"

"Killed her? You better not the League here you say that," said Tamara teasingly; when this didn't lift him from his mood she stepped forward and touched his cheek, making him meet her gaze. "You would've been killed or worse. This information isn't worth your life. You're worth more than that."

"To our mission?"

"To me," she replied sharply. "To us."

He stood up. "I didn't know if there was much of an us. You've been distant."

Flashes of her visions came back. She drew back, half turned from him. The temptation to tell him everything, to warn him about what was coming, weighed heavily on her shoulders. How she sorely wished to unload the burden, even if it was just a little of it. He'd understand, even if he didn't. For her, he'd lie, pretend, support her because that's what he did. Regardless of the cost to himself. It was one of the things she loved about him, why she even let him get close, stay by her side through the darker times. His unflinching loyalty.

"You know I can't speak about the future," she said quietly.

He came to her, wrapped his arms around her. "You told me a long time ago that you've always been haunted by a persistent vision. It's that, isn't it? It's coming to pass?"

She glanced back him, just a single nod. "I tried to alter it but the more meddling I did the harder it cemented itself. It's set now."

Sensing that was all she could – or would – say on the matter he murmured an acknowledgment. To his credit, he wouldn't push; he had, a long time ago, but that insistence had nearly torn them apart. To be with her he had learned that there were some things she saw she couldn't speak of. So, he did what he could. He walked into the kitchen, returning a few moments later with two small glasses of whiskey. She took the glass from him, tipped her head back and downed the contents in one go. The golden liquid burned her throat and settled warmly.

"The worst part is I haven't been able to see anymore beyond that moment," she said. "It's darkness."

Clint went rigid, his glass at his lips. He lowered it, looking at her warily. "You told me that you thought your visions couldn't go beyond your own life. You're saying-"

"It's not that. I can't die. It's not my time."

"You seem sure about that."

She smiled bitterly. "The Guardians won't let me die. I haven't learnt my lesson."

Clint huddled in the minor protection of the doorway atop the GCPD, his gaze firm on the signal for Batman in the sky. He felt restless, uneasy. Batman didn't scare him, not like Hysteria did, though Clint still felt wary of the masked crusader. He was distracted, too; both from the encounter with Hysteria and his conversation with Tamara. Since they'd come to Earth his wife had become distant, more than usual. Especially to Leia, whom she'd always been overly protective with. Quickly, he realised that the vague vision Tamara spoke about probably involved Leia in some tragic demise. It was all speculation, of course, which he couldn't tell Leia, in case he was wrong and changed things somehow. If it was true, then according to Tamara, there wasn't anything he could do anyway. Much to his dismay.

As the cold wind howled viciously through the dark city, mournful in its tune, Clint was reminded of the city he'd grown up in – Taldeya, beautiful once, then destroyed in Hysteria's vindictive wrath. It had moments like this, at night, when the wind howled and it seemed the city was hanging on the edge of disaster, grieving for the future. It had been beautiful but it had scars, like so many things, like Leia with the scars she hid and Tamara, whose own scars lay far beneath skin and bone. Those she hid jealously.

A shadow flitted and there was the feintest scrape of boots against concrete, then a figure emerged from the shadows. Batman. He stared at Clint, emerging from the shadows, hands spread in peace. Batman said nothing but stared, obviously wondering why he'd been summoned by someone he hardly knew. The gears almost churned audibly across the roof. Clint imagined them. He cleared his throat and fished out the thumb drive he'd guarded on his way over, then held it out, the offering inspected for a moment before it was plucked from his grasp. Batman turned it over, then looked up.

"What's this?"

"Hysteria's involved with the Light. Friends of yours, I'm told," he said casually. "She's cemented herself as a third party, for the moment but our own reports, noted on that drive, suggest she's already making moves to make herself a key player."

"They won't make it easy. They do not like change."

"Maybe but Hysteria can be persuasive and she'll make them think it's her idea. The information is a warning. We're continuing to hunt for her, to ensure she doesn't get the device your friend is protecting," said Clint, then looked out across the city. The wind howled ominously again. "I really hope for all our sakes he's good at keeping that device from her. I can't see another world end."

"What will you and the others do once you find her?"

Clint looked back at the masked figure, steady and calm. Truth was, he knew exactly what he'd do, if he had the chance and didn't falter. He knew what Leia would do, given the chance as well. Only Tamara's intentions, like her knowledge of the future, were hidden from him. Yet despite his feelings, he knew what Leia wanted and that was to keep the League as their friends, not their enemies.

"We're not killers. She might deserve it but that's not our mission."

"And what is your mission?"

"To ensure no world suffers the fate of ours."

With a snap of his fingers he dissolved himself into a bolt of electricity and spirited away into the night.