Author's note: Okay, okay, I know I'm suppose to be writing other things (cough, Standing Along, cough), but for some jammy reason Shay keeps creeping into my head and won't go away. This is just after Shayera walks off panel in Hawkman 17, the 90s run, when DC just blew continuity to all hell. The issue numbering is an irony I just noticed like two days ago – if Geoff and crew planned the current Hawkman 17 to be their last issue with Shayera then major hats off to ya guys. And, yes, I actually think Loebs and crew did an excellent job telling the story and don't really need much improvement (unlike the current Hawkman 17, which I still think just left far too much out). This is just drabble of the angsty-type that just kept rattling my head until I put it to paper.
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I just walked out the door.
I can't believe I just walked out the door.
Well, actually – be honest, Shayera – yes I can. After all, that's what I do; hells, what I'm known for in certain circles. After all, most of the meat on this planet just expects me to throw myself head long into things that seem deranged, foolish and just plain idiotic to everyone else.
That's how Holyrod played me so well during that whole White Dragon debacle.*
That's why nobody will be surprise that Shayera Thal walked out the door on Katar Hol. Some of them would probably hurt themselves laughing if they also knew she just walked away from not only her partner, but also the man she just – just – discovered she loves as much as she loves flying or breathing and just – just – rejoined after more headache, heartache and sheer shittness than mortal woman should have to endure.
Fate has a truly inspired sense of humor that way.
No, what I really can't believe… I can't believe that I'm not surprised Katar didn't stop me.
Gods and devils below, I wish I was surprised. I wish I was hurt by the lack of understanding, bitching and cursing his name in utter confusion, and wondering why in all the hells we believe in he simply let me walk out the door without a single word.
Unfortunately, I don't have that luxury. I understand exactly why he didn't interrupt my little speech about weakness and liabilities he can't afford in the middle of his personal little war. Ever damn word I said was true, every thought accepted, if unvocalized, by him. He'd known. He'd been pushing all of us away, and not so subtly, for weeks. I just gave him an out, and an easy one at that. All he had to do was stand there.
And not say a word.
And, unfortunately, I can't even hide behind my signature rash, hotheadedness either, not this time. Oh, Viper using me like so much fucking bait again, well, that was just a catalyst. The push. Fate and her merry little way of flash-zoning my life just one more time.
No, I'd been thinking about this for… oh, a while. Not immediately upon his transformation. But, sure as hell not long after either. He's not the same Katar I fell in love with, but not nearly as good at hiding what's going on in his head at the same time. I could see the pity and contempt in his changed eyes; the worry and the fear as well. And every time his eyes slid away from mine, every time he'd send me to do "research," every gods-damned time he left without a word and came back with new bruises he refused to talk about with anything other than "Beat the bad guy"…
Every time he simply let my fingers touch him…
Every time something died inside me as well.
I learned fierce independence and a touchy pride early and well in my life. It got me through the kill-first mentality of Downside, the oh-so-polite and vicious politics of Upside and my loving family, and then my training as a wingman. The first time you watch some jammed-up meat simply stop breathing – right in the middle of raving at you for stealing his air, you, a little squeaker, not much bigger than his fucking waist – oh, believe me that builds the first walls damn fast. And when a backhand greets any whimpering, wheezing, screaming fears you might have, you learn to build those walls higher, faster and thicker.
Getting ripped up Top, thrown into my mother's place in that society – Devil's, that was actually worse than Downside. At least there, among the dregs of society, you know exactly where you stand and the rules are damn clear. Flash them before they flash you; because they will, every damned one of them. Topside, the weapons were words, designer drugs and politics sharp enough to make you bleed to death before you even felt the cut. Combine all that with that fact I grew into that bitch's spiting image – Topside wasn't any easier than Downside. Worse actually, my dearest father kept expecting me to walk in her shoes. So did Andur for that matter. Oh, it was never said directly, but they'd've trade me off to each other in a heartbeat, if they thought they could get away with it, my loving fathers.
Those disgusting, demented reprobates – considered part of the cream of Thanagarian society. No jamming wonder our planet burned to all fucking hell.
And the wingmen training just reinforced it all: rely on no-one, shoot first and make sure they stay down.
I'm damn good at it.
Heh, but all those defenses, all those walls, they didn't work so well on Katar. No matter how many times fate kicked him in the teeth – and she's toyed with him even more than she's toyed with me – he'd get right back up. Still wanting to do the "right thing." And no matter how many times I went off half-cocked, insulted him or just blindly struck out in pain and anger, he never let me drive him away. Hell, my betrayal of him to our government would have been enough for any other sane person to turn his back on me and leave me dangling in the wind. Not Katar. No, instead he defied both governments to prove my innocence in Jonesy's murder and Byth's frame up.
And the part that amazed me at the time, filled me with thankful wonder not just six months ago, and rips me apart now with every jammed up breath, is that he kept coming back for more. For a reason I still can't quite figure out, Peacock never wrote me off. Instead, he kept turning to me, trusting me to watch his back in battle and out, treating me as his partner every step of the way. Expecting me to take my share of the burden. He showed me that a partner was more than an assignment, more than friendship, or even love.
Losing his love… Well, it only hurts when I breathe.**
Losing his partnership… It's amazing that a person can continue to function with such gapping, bleeding holes in her soul.
So, I walked away, closed the door behind me before Katar was forced to close it in my face. "I'm fine," I told Lefty as he stood fidgeting in my doorway, watching me zip up a duffle bag. "Tell Naomi I'll call." I dropped a kiss on his cheek, surprising him almost as much as me, added that I'd send for the rest of my things, and walked out the door.
Somehow I made it to the car before the first tear fell.
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*Specifically, Hawkworld #27, when Shayera went along with a "sanctioned" government mission to break into a Neo-Nazi headquarters with some major dreams of grandeur and a powerful meta (the White Dragon) heading it. The mission went south. Things went badly from there. And then Hawkworld ended. Badly. But not after screwing with our favorite couple. Again. Badly.
** Only partly stolen from Melissa Etheridge's Breathe. This really wasn't meant to be a song fic, but somehow the song snuck its way into my head midway and just won't let go.
I
Played the fool today
And I
Dream of vanishing into the crowd
Longing for home again
But, home is a feeling I buried in you
I'm alright
I'm alright
It only hurts when I breathe
And I can't ask for things to be still again
No I can't ask for you
To offer the world through your eyes
Longing for home again
But home
Is a feeling I buried in you