Hope ya'll like it. I'll post the other parts soon.
***
It was amazing how different her communicator sounded when echoing off the insides of the toilet bowl, Hawkgirl thought tiredly. She stood up gracelessly, still more than a trifle woozy and nauseous, and walked over to the sink to splash her face and rinse out her mouth. She paused a moment to study herself critically in the mirror—God, what a wreck she looked! With her face white and pasty, and deep circles under her eyes, she looked, if possible, even worse than she felt. With a deep sigh, she walked into her living room and answered the persistent chime of the communicator.
An image of a darkly handsome man flashed onto the screen.
"Shy, it's Katar. Is everything…" His no-nonsense tone broke off, to be replaced by one of concern.
"Shy, are you alright? You don't look too well." His sympathetic voice, deep and rich, still warmed her heart, even after, or perhaps because of, their lengthy separation.
"I'm fine, just fine, Katar. Just a touch of what humans call the flu. It will blow over in a few days."
"If you say so," he replied, apparently unconvinced. "Just take care of yourself, all right? I wouldn't want to have to worry about you on top of everything else that's going on."
Hawkgirl bit back the retort that sprang to her lips. Katar didn't mean for what he said to come out sounding as uncaring as it did, and besides, they had business to attend to. This was no time for a domestic squabble.
"Do you have the information?" he continued, dropping once again into the persona of the stern military commander that she had worked alongside, and eventually, fallen in love with.
"Yes. I'm transmitting it now."
"Excellent, excellent," he murmured, when he saw the information being flashed across his screen. "You've done more than we ever expected. If all goes according to plan, you'll hear from me again in two weeks to solidify our plans…and then, hopefully, I'll see you in a month," he said, giving her a wolfish smile and a wink.
"Very well, Katar." Hawkgirl wished they had more time to talk about anything other than the bare essentials, but then, their time was always short due to their fear that their communications might be intercepted by hostile parties.
"I love you Shayera. Hawkman out." The screen flashed blank.
Hawkgirl dropped tiredly into her chair behind her desk, and rested her head in her arms. Christ, this was a lot harder than she thought it would be—a lot harder. And with her new worry, it was nigh on impossible. She bent her head over the desk and finally gave way to the silent tears that had threatened to overwhelm her for months. She was a traitor.
***
Still, she had to admit later, looking over her biographies, she was damn good at what she did. Physically, Superman was vulnerable to kryptonite, and emotionally, by his love for Lois Lane, a certain reporter in Metropolis. "Anything more?" she thought, while idly tapping her nails against the desk. Hmmm…perhaps his overall decency could be used as a weakness as well. Superman would not act if innocent lives were at stake, but how could that be used against him? Perhaps she could manipulate the circumstances such that…..
Still tapping, and lost in thought, she failed to hear the first knock on her door, but abruptly started when the knock came harder and louder. She closed her laptop with a thud, and growled a not very pleasant sounding "Enter!"
The door opened, leaving a concerned looking J'onn peering intently into the darkness of the room.
"Hawkgirl—is this a bad time?"
"No, J'onn, come in. I was just thinking about turning in, but I would welcome the interruption," she said, putting an easiness into her voice she didn't feel. "Why don't you turn on a few lights so we can see what we're doing, and have a seat?" The truth was she could see nearly as well in the dark as she could in the light, but one of the first rules of warfare was deception—you had the advantage if you knew more about the enemy than he about you. She sighed.
"So, J'onn…what brought you here?"
J'onn, never one to tip-toe around any issue—one of the qualities she admired about him—bluntly stated, "Mostly, concern about you. You look awful, and it seems like you've been under a lot of stress these past few weeks."
She looked at him, concerned. He claimed he hadn't read her mind, and would never read it to invade her privacy, but she couldn't help being worried. If he caught one inkling of what was it her mind, even for a second, she and her plans would be screwed. How had he known the enormous stress she was under?
Her surprise must've shown on her face, because he laughed and said, "Hawkgirl, it doesn't take a genius to figure things out. You look like you've lost about ten pounds in two weeks, you jump at the slightest thing, and you've been in a bad temper, even for you, which is a feat in itself."
She carefully schooled her features into a look of unconcern. "I'm sorry if I've been worrying you J'onn. It's just this darn flu. Once I get over it, I'll be as good as new."
"I can help you with your flu if you want, Hawkgirl. But I have a feeling that that is not all that is bothering you." His eyes, dark and intent, bored into hers.
"How many times can I tell you, J'onn, I'm fine! It's nothing but this flu. I think I'm getting over it, so I'll decline your help for now, but if I feel worse, I'll be sure to come by and see you. As it is J'onn..." she stood up with an exaggerated yawn, "I must be more tired than I thought. I think I'll turn in now. They say plenty of sleep helps you get over these things."
"Very well," he said, rising. "Pleasant dreams." And so saying, he vanished through the door.
Nice trick, that, she thought idly. But all thought was shortly banished from her head as a wave of nausea washed over her. "Christ!" she swore in her head. It looked like another night she would be spending in close communion with the toilet.
***
Two days later, around 0230, spending more bonding time with her new best friend, her wings crushed against herself in the small space of the bathroom, she admitted the truth to herself that she had dimly suspected for the past two weeks.
God, what a joke! She and Katar had been trying, on and off, for more than three years, and after one f*cking night with an off-worlder…With dark humor, her mind chuckled at the unintentional pun.
It was all the fault of this holiday they called Christmas. It had reminded her rather of a similar Thanagarian holiday—not the religious trappings, of course, but the gifts, the time spent with the family. That was what had gotten her in trouble.
John was lonely that day—she could tell. He was hanging around the Watchtower, but not contentedly. He walked around, sitting down, standing up, starting a book, putting it down…just generally making a nuisance of himself. She watched, amusedly, to see how long that state of affairs would continue.
Finally, an hour later, (he had held on for longer than she thought!), he came up to her, saying brightly, "Hawkgirl, it's a shame you have to spend the holiday alone! Why don't you come home with me? We could have a snowball fight, eat dinner, have a good time!"
Hawkgirl restrained her initial reactions; on the one hand, anger, for making it sound as if he pitied her, and laughter, on the other, for making it sound as though SHE was the one who was restless and lonely. All she really wanted after doing this long Christmas day watch was to get some sleep, but it would be unprofessional of her to pass up the opportunity to observe one of the members of the Justice League up close and personally.
She accepted, with more grace than she thought she had in her. "I'd love to!" she said. I'll be off in about an hour when Flash comes to relieve me. After that, I'm free."
***
"So the point is just to throw this…this…solid precipitation at one another?"
"Yep!" said John enthusiastically. "One of my favorite games when I was a kid."
Hawkgirl was not in a good mood. John had given her only fifteen minutes to construct a defensive position for herself, and she had had barely enough time to even consider her fields of fire for her projectiles, let alone see to the architectural solidity of the anterior walls in case of an ambush.
"These…snowballs? They're not even lethal!" She could feel the exasperation creep into her voice. What did he take her for? She was an MP on Thanagar, and was an expert in weaponry. And he had the effrontery to suggest they fight a mock war with snowballs? Why, when she was a raw lieutenant she had taken part in deadly war game exercises!
"No…" said John, sidling away from her. "But they're darn fun." And with that, he took a snowball he had hidden behind his back and smacked her squarely upside the chin with it. She could feel the snow slowly drip down her shirt. She saw red.
"You bastard! You'll pay for that!" She picked up some snow and threw it after the retreating John. It narrowly missed him as he jumped into the trench he had constructed as part of his snow fort.
"Nice try, Hawkgirl!" he called, his green eyes sparkling merrily. "But you'll have to do better than that!"
***
An hour later, they had called a truce, with both of them claiming victory. Hawkgirl had claimed the most hits, but John had claimed the most strategic ones: his shots unerringly had seemed to maximize the drip effect—always getting her right above her scarf or hat, where the snow would strategically drip down and soak her clothes.
"You've had more experience with this," she commented as they stood in the entryway to John's apartment, her wet clothes dripping on the carpet. "I'll get you next time."
"Yeah right," he guffawed. "I don't care how many shots you got at me, nothing could ever beat the look you gave me after that first hit." He doubled over, laughing at the memory.
"Ha ha," Shayera said, sourly. "I'm glad you're getting a good laugh at my expense."
"No, no, Shy," he said, wiping the tears from his eyes. "It's just that..." he couldn't complete his thought and trailed off into laughter again. "The look…on your face…was so…" He started laughing even harder, so she could not hear the end of his sentence, which was probably just as well for him. She was about two seconds away from decking him with her mace.
"At any rate," she said, carefully controlling her temper, "I think I'll just change my clothes and be on my way."
Abruptly, John came over to her and grasped her arm before she could turn away. "No, Shy, please…stay. I want…I mean, we haven't even eaten yet!"
She stopped, and looked into his eyes. His eyes looked at her, pleadingly, and she saw, in a flash, how very lonely he was, and maybe…how lonely she was too.
"All right," she had agreed. "But dinner…is my choice."
***
"Are you sure this is safe, Shy?" he asked, his face filled with doubt as he saw the place she had taken him to.
"No," she responded. "And really, that's the point."
He took a look around at the intergalactic-- bar? restaurant? club?-- she had recommended. He was willing to bet any money that more than one of the people that swirled around him had a bounty on his or her head. In fact, he thought he recognized the purple-skinned woman in the far corner as Zin'Tara-- wanted by more than three planets for smuggling and attempted murder.
"Shy…" he started, but she cut him off.
"Look, John," she said, amused, "just settle down and have a good time, okay? You'd think these big, bad, aliens were scaring you." She knew that by throwing down a challenge like that, she'd effectively shut him up.
She didn't know when they started to call each other by their first names, but she hadn't minded. A false familiarity would help him loosen his tongue, which was the reason she had gone out with him for in the first place. She smiled, wondering what effect her dress would have on him. Unless she'd quite lost her touch, she was willing to wager quite a considerable one.
"Help me with my coat, would you?" she asked.
He complied, silently, and she knew she had judged her attire correctly when she heard him draw in his breath, his hands poised in mid-air, holding her trench coat, that, until now, had hid her attire.
The dress was far more daring than anything she would ever wear on her homeworld. But she had bought it for such an occasion as this, and, if she was not mistaken, it was well worth the money. It was simple, black, expensive, and left little to the imagination. It was cut low in the back to accommodate her wings, and was cut as low in the front as decency would allow. It was also slit up to mid-thigh, which, though it added to its allure, was probably also the only reason she could move in the darn thing. The truth was, it fit like a second skin, and made breathing nigh-on impossible, but, if John was taken in by it, it would be worth it.
"Nice dress," he said, laconically. But she saw his eyes on her body, unable, or unwilling, to look away. She was pleased, though at the same time she was disappointed. Were all men the same? Apparently so. She somehow expected more from John, though perhaps she was being ridiculous. Was it just too much to expect that someone be attracted to her for who she was, rather than what she looked like?
She sighed. Well, no time for regrets. She was here to work.
She turned to John, flirting with him, and if she wasn't mistaken, giving him a pretty good look down her dress. She gritted her teeth.
"Buy a girl a drink?" she asked.
***
Well, she thought, the evening wasn't entirely unproductive. If nothing else, she learned the hard way that John's ring prevented him from getting drunk—purging the toxins right from his body. Did it do the same for poisons? For that matter, what about illnesses? Did John ever get sick? She couldn't recall him ever looking under the weather…It probably wasn't of vital importance, but she would pass it on to Katar anyway. You never knew what could prove useful.
Unfortunately, that knowledge was gained at the price of getting nearly smashed herself. She wasn't initially that worried about ordering alcoholic drinks. Thanagar wasn't the kind of place where one practiced prohibition, especially if you were in the military and wanted to be accepted as "one of the boys". She could drink nearly anyone under the table, and still walk away with a relatively clear head. But after six drinks (two of them doubles), when she noticed John looking as urbane and clear-headed as ever, she had questioned him on it (without, surprisingly, slurring too many of her words).
"Well, I'd like to say it's because of my superior Marine training…" John smirked when Shayera glared at him, "…but to tell the truth, it's my ring. It always makes sure I'm fit for duty." His grin slipped, and his look became remorseful. "Sometimes, though, anymore, I think that's all I'm fit for. My life is the Green Lantern Corps."
He looked down at the table, embarrassed at having revealed too much. Impulsively (was it the liquor?), she reached across the table and grasped his hand. "You're not the only one who's lonely, John. I'm far away from my home, my family, and my job. And God only knows when I'll ever see any of them again."
John raised his eyes to look at her. "I'm sorry, Shayera. I guess I never thought of you that way. You always seemed so…put-together. Self-confident."
"Yeah…well…" she muttered, unsure of what to say. She grabbed her purse. "I think it's time we left."
***
John walked her back to her quarters in silence, just as he had been on the whole way back to the Watchtower. The silence, however, wasn't wholly unpleasant—it was more the silence of contentment, of people who were happy enough not to say anything.
Shayera was honest enough with herself to admit that. She was happy now, with John. It was, perhaps, her duty to inititate conversation, to get John to admit more about himself. But this was one night when duty could go f*ck itself. She was happy, and she was, if not an ordinary woman, she was at least who she said she was. She wasn't a traitor. Not tonight, anyway.
Upon reaching her door, she turned to Lantern, "Goodnight, John. I had a good time tonight. And…Merry Christmas," she said, feeling the unfamiliar words on her tongue.
A look of near-comic realization dawned over his face. "That's right," he said. "I almost forgot!" He reached into his coat and came out with a small, flat, wrapped present. "Merry Christmas, Shy. I was going to give it to you after the snowball fight at my house, but what with everything, I totally forgot."
Tears pricked her eyes. She wasn't usually so sentimental, but something about him getting her a present touched her. She covered up her emotions by quick speech. "Come in, come in, John," she said, turning away quickly and opening the door, and switching on the lights.
"I'm afraid I didn't get you anything," she said apologetically, as he seated himself comfortably on the couch.
"That's all right," he said. "To be honest, I wasn't sure whether to get you anything either. But when I saw this, I thought of you," he said, shrugging his shoulders. "Go ahead, open it!"
She ripped into the paper eagerly, to reveal…a flat screen. "What is it?" she asked, turning to Lantern.
He came up behind her, and touched a small button on the reverse side of the screen, to show…
My God…it couldn't be. "Thanagar?" she asked, with a catch in her voice. "How did you…how did you get this?"
He winked at her. "Thanagar isn't part of a galaxy the League usually patrols. But that doesn't mean we haven't heard of it. About ten years ago, we sent an unmanned probe to that section of the universe. And voila! Thanagar."
"John, I don't know how to…that is, I never expected…" she stared at the image of her homeworld, entranced.
"Well, if anything," he said, "you don't need to feel lonely any more, at least tonight. All you have to do is look at that picture, and you can imagine the…how many? Four billion people waiting for your safe return." He smiled at her, and moved to the door, obviously ready to take his leave.
"Wait," she said, putting the picture down on the couch, and coming over to him, putting her hand on his arm. "You're right about not being lonely. But…I also wouldn't be lonely if you stayed here tonight."
"Well," he gulped, looking wildly around the room. "I suppose I could sleep on the couch…"
"You could," she said, putting her arms around his neck. "But that's not what I had in mind…" And so saying, she pulled his lips down to hers…
***
It was only a one-time thing, of course. A momentary slip, the result of alcohol, loneliness, and the holiday they called Christmas. And of course, there was Katar. The very pain of betraying him would insure such a thing would never, could never, happen again. But dear God, what a night! Not, of course, that she would ever admit it, even under pain of torture. But whoever said this Green Lantern was unimaginative had obviously never….She blushed to roots of her hairline just remembering. It was a passion-filled night, the kind where you threw caution to the winds in the heat of the moment.
That, of course, was her big mistake. Which left her with her present predicament. Not that anyone could blame her. Thanagarians, as a race, were notoriously xenophobic, not the least because their DNA had proved remarkably resistant to intra-species reproduction. The few half-Thanagarians that existed were helped into the world by an inordinate amount of medical science.
She had suspected the truth when she first came down with her "flu" two weeks ago. How, she didn't know, as of the two possibilities, the flu was by far the likeliest, but the possibility was always there, floating like a specter at the back of her mind. And now that this "flu" had lasted two weeks, the last obstacle to the possibility had been removed. No flu lasted that long. And certain other things had begun to add up too.
She bit back hysterical laughter, over the toilet once more, vomiting up what little food she had managed to keep down that day. What were the frigging chances? What? One in a million? One in a billion? And she was the lucky one who managed to beat the odds!
What the hell was she going to do? She could just imagine the possible conversations with Katar:
"Hey, honey! Guess what? I'm a medical miracle!"
"Hi, honey! I'm pregnant with another man's child, but I did it for the mission!"
"Hey, Katar, you might want to think about getting that legislation you passed on citizenship repealed. Why? Well, because our child is going to be only half Thanagarian, and…"
No, there was no way in hell that this was going to turn out okay. She didn't need this now! She had less than one week left to give her final report and less than three before the invasion. She had so much to worry about already without having this new, additional, unwanted worry.
Damn it all to hell! What was she going to do?
***