Disclaimer: Breaking news! I own Justice League! Whoohoo! Eat your heart out, Bruce Timm….
*Wait*
*******************
Let's not wait 'till the water is dry
We might watch our whole lives pass us by
Let's not wait till the water is dry
We'll make the biggest mistake of our lives
Don't do it baby
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John sat, staring into space; literally. His grandmother, rest her soul, had a saying that she was forever telling him, her sweet, procrastinating grandson.
He could still hear her sweet voice, booming and loud on his ears, so rich and always so comforting to him, especially after his parents had died: 'John, if you wait until the water runs dry, then what's the point of going to the river?'
He chuckled slightly. How many times had he heard that in his lifetime?
It seemed like everyday since the day he was born. It was something he lived by.
If you waited until it was too late, then what? You have nothing. If you waited until it was too late anyways, then it must not have been that important in the first place, right? That was usually the way it went with him.
But not this time.
This was probably the most important thing ever in his life. There was no question. This was definitely something that deserved doing right away.
The real question was whether or not he was going to wait until it was too late.
Sighing, he turned back to his suddenly unappetizing dinner. Why had Clark forced them into having a dinner, all together around the table? Nobody ever ate with anybody else, unless it was a special occasion. He could only remember three dinners that he had ever shared with other members of the League; (excluding dinners with Wally, because then, Flash had been Wally West, John Stewart's best friend, not the Green Lantern's fellow Leaguer) and only once had it been with the entire League.
He involuntarily cringed as he remembered a Christmas supper, not long ago, that he thought would have been one of the things in his memory that would always signify a good time in his life.
Now, though, it meant a pain that ran deeper than the vast space outside the thick walls of the Watchtower.
He glanced around the table.
Clark.
Bruce.
Diana.
Lois.
All of them had already acted. They had said and acted on (in their opinion, at least) the most important thing they would ever do in their lives…
The same thing he couldn't do; yet he called them rookies.
They were the rookies?
Then why was Clark talking, almost singing, happy as a lark, to an equally as happy Diana and Lois, and a real, live happy Bruce?
If they were the rookies, then why was it Bruce's eyes, that were solid blue, ice cold stone, were so soft and happy and open as he bounced his tiny son, a perfect mirror image of his father, dark broodings included already?
If they were the rookies, then why was it that Clark looked so comfortable holding his little son, and his daughter looked so at peace lying beside her older brother in her father's arms as their mother pushed a strand of hair out of her son's face?
If they were the rookies, then why was it that Wally was actually calm for once, just because his small twins were peacefully laying (for once), their strawberry-blond hair tousled around their heads, cute enough for Wally, the Fastest-Man-Alive to slow down and enjoy life?
It seemed that only one who didn't understand it, the only one who was waiting until the water ran dry; the only real rookie in this ball game was him….