TRASHY ROMANCE PLOT NUMBER FOUR
By: xffan2000 and Nancy Brown
See chapter 1 for summary and rating.
VVVVVVV
Chapter 2 of 4
"Come on," John said, more to himself than to her as he held her upright. "Drink up." He placed the cup against her motionless lips, hoping to coax a reaction. He didn't want to choke her but he knew she needed to drink. If he could get some water into her, he'd try stewing up some of the rat-critters and making a gruel.
If he couldn't ...
He tipped the cup, sloshing a little into her mouth. Hawkgirl coughed and swallowed but didn't waken. "That's good," he told her. "Have a little more. Pretend it's coffee." He poured another few drops into her mouth, watched most of it dribble before she swallowed again. "There you go."
The green had spread to most of her leg, but was now fading in intensity. John was sure her body was fighting this, was sure she could beat it.
But she was still almost too hot to touch.
VVVVVVV
Sometime in the middle of the night, her fever broke. Hawkgirl shivered more violently, but it was the last of the fever working through her, and he held her until the quakes passed.
She opened her eyes, blinking owlishly in the dim light.
"What … Lantern?"
"Hey. How're you feeling?"
"I'm fine." She pushed him away and sat up, pulling the blankets away with her. She closed her eyes, possibly waiting for the dizziness to pass.
"You sure about that?"
"What's … " Her hand went to her face. "Where's my mask?" she demanded. He couldn't remember ever being so glad to hear her annoyed.
He nodded to the place he'd set the mask aside. She grabbed it, clutched it close, turned away from him to slip it back over her face.
"How did I get sick?" The demanding tone was still there. A little fear, too.
"That scorpion thing that stung you. Don't you remember?"
She shook her head. "Not after the sting. What happened?"
"Nothing. You're better now. Obviously."
"You saw my face."
"I needed to take your temperature. You had a fever." He was getting used to reading her behind the mask. "Don't worry. I won't compromise your secret identity when we get back to Earth."
"I don't have a secret identity," she replied. "Do you even know what my resting temperature is supposed to be?" He shook his head. She sat back against the wall. "You're not supposed to see my face. We're not family. It's just ... It's not right."
Ah. Cultural thing. "Look, I'm sorry if I broke some Thanagarian taboo. I didn't know. I was just trying to help."
"Yeah," she said. "Thanks." He frowned at her. "I mean it. Thanks." She sounded sincere. He nodded her welcome.
"Why don't you stay in today? Recover your strength. I'll dig us up some grub."
"That'd be great." She lay back down, and he could see the lines of exhaustion still surrounding her. She wasn't out of the woods yet, but he was almost positive she'd be okay.
VVVVVVV
The following day, she was looking much better. She crawled out of the shelter behind him when he went to catch breakfast, and managed to have a fire going when he returned empty- handed.
"We'll find something later," she said, curling closer to the fire. "Have some water."
As he took a cup from her, the last tiny flicker of power hummed in his ring, warning him.
"Uh oh."
"What?"
"Power's about to die. We've got one construct left, maybe." She shivered. "I'm going to try one more mayday. Maybe we'll get lucky."
He stood in the middle of their site, looked up, prayed Oa was somewhere in the hemisphere above him, and began what he knew would be his last transmission.
"Mayday. Repeat. Mayday. Stranded on unknown planet in Sector 2811. Please send transport." The ring flickered and winked out. He sensed the energy flux through him one last moment, and then fade.
"Your eyes," she said, confused.
"It happens." But he closed them anyway; the familiar green glow against his eyelids burned him for its absence. Now they were stuck until and unless someone got their distress call. Some rescue mission this had turned out to be. J'onn and Superman were God knew where, and they were stranded. Worse, now they were down to one decent weapon between them.
"Drink something," she said.
"Got any Coors?" he teased, taking the cup again.
"If I did, I'd have washed my hair by now."
"It's not that bad."
She snorted. "Lantern, human beer is so close to water, I don't know why you even bother. Now blerg ... " She sighed and sipped her own water. "I could use a nice, warm blerg."
"Seems to be in short supply here, sorry."
"Maybe I'll go talk that creepy guy over the ridge out of his gin."
"I wouldn't if I were you. He and his buddies were talking about eating your corpse."
Her nose wrinkled. "We could move, you know."
He laughed and drank his water. "You'd just piss off people in the next neighborhood too."
She smiled, and he knew she was feeling better. "Tell me something," she said after a while.
"Sure."
"Why don't you ever say my name?"
"What? Of course I do."
"No, you don't. You say 'You,' whenever you can."
He shrugged. "Never really noticed. You don't use my name very much, though."
"I do so."
"No, you call me 'Lantern.' You could try calling me 'John' now and then. I wouldn't mind."
"Fine. John. But you still never use my name."
"I don't know your name. I know your code name, but that's not the same thing."
She bit her lip. "Shayera."
"Shayera," he parroted, and she nodded on his pronunciation. "That's nice. First name, last name, or only name?"
"First name. Family name is Hol."
"Nice to meet you, Shayera Hol." He stuck out his hand as a joke. She smiled — she was pretty when she smiled, even with the mask — and shook his hand.
VVVVVVV
They learned.
The pilots of the trash barges never did pick-ups. Some of the aliens that frequented the water hole whispered that someone somewhere had bribed his way off once, but there were no details of the price.
The pilots either had never heard of the Green Lantern Corps, or didn't care.
When the rumble of a ship's engines came over the horizon, the people who got there first got the best pickings. They found better blankets, marginally so, and from time to time, tins of unspoiled food. For the first time in days, they ate nearly-fresh vegetables.
Weapons were scarce. Enough work made John a serviceable blade, and he practiced wielding it when time allowed.
The broken bits of technological refuse from fifty worlds littered the landscape. They spent hours digging through piles, looking for something they could use, for defense or contacting home.
It was a life unlike any he'd lived before, hard and unforgiving, but he had a friend at his side and there were worse places to be.
VVVVVVV
Alien technology gave him headaches. Never mind that there was no user's manual, and that it would be written in something indecipherable anyway, John had a hard enough time figuring out if a particular metal box was supposed to be a subspace radio or a booby-trapped toaster.
Normally, he could use his ring to scan the innards of something before he tried to open it. Now he had to rely on common sense and his best guesses. He'd only been shocked once so far, and he'd yanked the power supply from that device in case he did manage to work out something useful.
His latest find sat before him, mocking him. The smooth metal shell curved around it without a crack. The finish was a little dented, but that was the only damage he could see. The shape had reminded him strongly of the radios they used on Korugar.
John knew how to rewire a Korugan radio.
"Any luck?" Shayera sat down across from him.
"Do you see an opening anywhere on this thing?"
"Just for the buttons. I could break it open for you," she offered, hefting her mace.
"Thanks, but I want it working." He slid his fingers around the casing. Has to be a way in somewhere.
"Your loss." She got up again, went inside, and came back out with their blankets and a handful of rags.
"What are you doing?"
"You play with the box. I'm going to go clean this stuff and bathe."
That was enough to make him put the machine down. "You're kidding, right?"
"I'll be at the spring. I'm not going to contaminate it, don't worry. I just want to get a little cleaner than this." She scowled down at her scruffy clothing. "You might want to think about the same thing. A shave wouldn't kill you, either."
"What are you implying?" he asked, wondering if he should be offended.
She threw a rag at him with a playful grin then glided off. He watched her go, and did not object at all to the mental image of Shayera's naked form at the water hole. He considered following her.
Uh uh. That wasn't an invitation, Stewart. That was a not very subtle hint that you need a bath. John had made a point of washing his hands before handling their food, and he tried to clean his teeth as best he could with just the water, but yeah, neither of them were pleasant company in close quarters anymore. He made a mental note to go to the spring. After she got back.
He returned to his work.
The thing looked so much like Korugan technology, he was sure he was onto something. Idly, he touched the buttons again, being careful not to press.
Maybe ... He grasped one, then gave it a quick clockwise twist. The machine emitted a hum. He held his breath.
The box flowered open, showing lovely, mostly intact wiring. He identified the major damage. Some parts would have to be replaced, but he was pretty sure he'd seen adequate substitutes during their salvage trips.
This was doable.
He thought about setting it aside right then and going to tell her that he was onto something. On second thought, she was taking a bath and would get pissed at him for interrupting her. Also, he didn't want to be cruel and get her hopes up in case this didn't work. He could tell her when, and if, he got the thing functional. It'd be a nice surprise.
VVVVVVV
John plucked the last of the meat out of a tiny leg, wishing to hell he had some salt and pepper. A steaming baked potato with butter and sour cream melting down the center would be good, too, his taste buds suggested. And some brightly colored mixed vegetables. He closed his eyes, seeing a big piece of warm apple pie topped with vanilla ice cream. When he opened his eyes and saw the greasy bit of meat from the unnamed rat-crab pinched between his fingers, John sighed. Not quite three weeks and already fantasizing about food. He pitched the scant remainder of his dinner into the fire.
He looked up and saw Shayera, her chin on her fists, staring into the flames, her dinner untouched.
"Eat," John said.
She didn't respond.
"Look, you can snap at me all you want. But at least acknowledge my presence."
Her eyes shifted and met his. "I'm not ignoring you."
"You are and I don't like it."
"I'm just ... thinking." He caught the tremor in her voice. It disturbed him.
"About?"
She straightened her back and faced him. "I can't stay here."
He didn't know exactly what she meant, but it stabbed at his heart anyway. "You want to camp someplace else?" he questioned, hoping it was as simple as that.
Her silence made his palms sweat. He hoped it wasn't him she wanted to get away from. "If the shelter is too small, I can make a bigger one," he offered, praying it was just her claustrophobia acting up.
"On this planet," she clarified through clenched teeth. "I can't stay on this planet!"
Her tone was angry and desperate and he didn't care. All that mattered was the million-ton weight she'd lifted from his shoulders because she said she wasn't leaving him. He smiled, though the situation didn't warrant it. "There's not much we can do, Shayera. We're stuck here until somebody finds us. And I can't promise that they'll even know where to look."
She stared into the fire again, her hands clenched in her lap. "So you really think this is forever."
"I sure as hell hope not." He stole a glance. She sat stiffly across from him. He couldn't lie. "But I don't know."
He watched her eyes slide shut and he could almost see hope slip through her fingers.
"What are the odds," he chuckled, trying to force some levity into the situation, "of the same person getting stranded on two different planets in her lifetime?"
Her eyes met his and his smile died under the withering glare. "Very low," she growled.
John swallowed. Jokes could wait, he decided. He stood, busying himself with menial camp cleaning to give Shayera some space. At some point, he knew, he'd also have a breakdown over the situation. Since they couldn't afford to both be mental wrecks at the same time, he vowed to get her through her turmoil first so she could be his rock when his time came.
For longer than necessary, John wandered around the campsite. He figured he'd moved just about every stone in the area twice, yet Shayera still sat at the fire, unmoving.
It was late. At least, it felt late according to his body clock. The sun had been set for what he would consider four full days and he didn't know when dawn would arrive. He gathered an armload of combustible fire material and moved toward the dying flames. The light and warmth made the place a tiny bit more cheerful.
Crouching, John stoked the fire. When he finished, he wiped his hands on his pants and backed up, sitting next to Shayera.
"That should keep it going awhile longer," he told her for no real reason. He turned to find her looking at him, sitting a little closer than what he expected. John blinked in surprise, but didn't move away. He just smiled; glad to have her attention.
"If this is forever, then nothing else really matters, does it?"
John frowned, considering her question.
"We're free," she continued.
He arched an eyebrow. Lost in space, trapped on an unknown planet, foraging for food and water, living in a shack made of trash, nearly dying. Freedom? It was an interesting way to look at the situation.
"I suppose that's — " his full thought cut short when her lips smashed against his. For a second, he didn't move, didn't respond. Her hands pulled at his head, her nails scratching through his hair. The beak of her mask poked at his nose and cheek as her lips worked over his. Her tongue probed for entrance. His jaw loosened, his neck relaxed and he allowed himself lean forward into her kiss.
She twisted her head, her mask digging in as it crossed the bridge of his nose. She bit his lower lip and he gasped in pain. Her tongue invaded his mouth and John's eyes closed. He hadn't expected her to do what she was doing, but he wasn't about to protest. His hands rose to her face, his fingers urging her closer.
John's mind tickled with questions about her motives, so he squeezed his eyes more tightly shut and instead concentrated on the warmth of her lips. Shayera's hands left his face, sliding downward. His hands wandered lower, too. Fingers came in contact with feathers and he cursed his uniform for having gloves. He jerked in surprise — and more than a bit of pain — when her hand reached his crotch and she squeezed hard. He felt her smile around their kiss and squeeze him again. His body responded, but his brain poked at him with less pleasant thoughts.
She's having a rough time. You, Stewart, are taking advantage of her.
In the most difficult action he'd ever taken, John gripped her shoulders and gently pushed her back. "Wait, Shayera."
She frowned at him, but was undeterred as she moved in for another kiss.
"No," he said more sharply than he wanted. "This isn't — "
A shriek cut him off. John pushed her roughly behind him as he scanned the area rapidly.
"There!" she shouted, already charging her mace. Three of their alien neighbors came over a pile of junk headed right for them, shouting and snarling with clubs and knives raised.
She rushed forward and swung, taking out the purplish frontrunner with a blow to the gut. John grabbed the wrist of one with a knife and used the guy's momentum to carry him over John's shoulder and into a wall of the shelter. Shayera was already chasing the third, who held his club like a shield before her onslaught.
John smiled grimly at her, then fell to his knees from a solid blow to the back of his neck. Dazed, he turned and saw five more aliens creeping around from behind the structure. The sixth stood above him, green-skinned and dressed in rags, irregular teeth snarling at him.
"Ambush!" he shouted to her, as he blocked another blow with his forearm, numbing his hand. Desperately, he rolled and kicked out, landing his heel squarely on the thing's knee. It shrieked and raised the club again, aiming for his legs.
John dodged, barely. A quick glance showed him Shayera was taking on three of them, mace sweeping out before her.
They're here for her, his gut warned him. Two others had joined the green guy above him, and he recognized the shorter one with the knife as the same one who'd tried to buy Shayera earlier. There was an ugly smile on its face as it swung wildly at John's head with the knife. John felt the quick slice, prayed the blade wasn't poisoned, and struck at the guy's mid-section with both fists. The alien went sprawling.
The one he'd stunned earlier was getting to its feet and was entering the fracas with Shayera. She kicked him, hard, and made her way over to where John was struggling to his feet.
"Behind you!" he shouted, as another purple guy went for her mace arm with his knife.
She blocked it and struck her would-be attacker in the head. John took a hard kick to his kidneys, pulled his knees in, and jumped to a standing position in time to punch out one of the aliens. He was hurt, he was winded, and he was still a little aroused from her kiss. Not a good combination.
"Where'd the others go?" she shouted, beating another alien into silence.
He swung his head, saw the movement in the dark of their shelter. "Inside!"
She swore. "You got these guys?"
"Sure," he said, grabbing the green guy by the shoulders and bringing its jaw into his knee with a sharp crack.
She shouted and dove into the shelter. There wouldn't be room for her to maneuver or swing in there. They could take the advantage and pin her down, they could ... John punched the last conscious alien outside, who fell with a thud, and then he spun to help Shayera inside.
As he reached the shelter, three aliens sprawled out, falling over themselves to the ground. Shayera emerged behind them, grumpy but unharmed.
"They were trying to steal our food stores," she said, grasping one by the throat. The blueish alien burbled but couldn't speak under her grip.
"That's all?" John asked incredulously.
She thrust the guy down to his knees and let go. He rubbed at his neck and nodded weakly. "We're not ... " he gasped. "Won't happen again."
Shayera pointed her mace at him. "I can guarantee that. You're not leaving here alive."
John put his hand on her shoulder. "They're more useful to us alive."
"I fail to see how."
"Oh yes," begged the alien obsequiously. "Let us go and we will ... We will ... We will be useful!" His buddies started to stir. Things were going to get crowded.
John put on his Drill Instructor voice: "Stand straight!" The alien pulled itself to a more or less upright position. At one look from Shayera, the others who could did the same.
"Now this is what's going to happen," John said. "First, you are going to march out of here. Second, you're going to not come back. Think you can remember that, dirt bags?"
There were nods.
Shayera said, "Good! Because if either of us sees any of you again, we're decorating our house with your skins. Go!"
With squeals of terror, and some moans of pain, their attackers fled. When they were gone, John relaxed and turned to Shayera. She was already crawling into the shelter.
"Hey," he said, following her over to the entrance. "What are you doing?"
"Going to sleep. We just had a battle and I'm tired."
"I thought ... " He wasn't sure what he'd thought. They'd been talking and then they'd been kissing, and he'd pushed her away, and then they'd fought off the neighbors.
Oh.
Shayera emerged from the shelter with a cup of water and a rag.
"You have a cut on your head," she said, thrusting both at him. "You should wash it before you come to bed." He reached his free hand up, pulled back blood on his glove.
"Shayera ... "
"Good night, Lantern," she said, and went back inside.
VVVVVVV
The feel of a cool finger dragging along the shell of his ear brought John back to near-consciousness. His brain supplied the disgusting conclusion: orange millipede thing. John smacked the side of his head hard to be sure to take care of the creepy-crawly. He brushed at his ear, not feeling the bug. Satisfied, he let himself drift toward sleep again.
The pain in his shoulder blade was unexpected. His eyes popped open and he twisted his head around to see Shayera, her fist still balled.
Several things registered at the same time. There wasn't a millipede; it had been Shayera's finger. He had smacked her, not a bug. She had punched him in the back as retaliation. And, most shocking, her mask was off.
She stared down at him with angry green eyes.
"Sorry," he said, "I thought you were a bug."
Her jaw tightened and her frown deepened.
"What?" he complained.
"Forget it," she snapped, turning her back to him, her wings crowding between them. He saw her reach over, pick up her mask and slide it over her face. She lay back down on her side, facing the wall. He didn't hear it, but he could tell she sighed by the rise and fall of her shoulders.
John rotated and rose up on his elbow. "Come on, Shayera." He reached out and touched her shoulder.
She shrugged him off. "Go back to sleep."
"I said I was sorry." He shook his head. How many times am I going to have to apologize while we're stuck on this stupid rock?
"I only have so much pride to spare," she said. "I'm not offering again."
"Offering?" His brain caught up with his mouth a second too late. "Oh." He hung his head. She'd had her mask off. She was ready, waiting for him and he blew it. Chalk up another apology, Marine.
Shayera hiked up the blanket over her bare shoulder, further shutting him out.
No.
John rose up, maneuvered over her wings and touched her chin with his fingertip. She turned her head slightly. He could tell she was scowling under the mask. Though the angle was awkward, he lowered himself and kissed her pursed lips.
She gave no reaction. Not a whimper, not a slap. She didn't even relax her jaw.
He pressed a little more, moved to nip her chin, planted tiny kisses at the corners of her mouth, stroked her cheek with his nose. Still, she didn't react. John returned to her lips one more time. Perhaps he'd waited too long. Maybe now she was just waiting for him to quit. He anticipated a knee to the groin any second.
He pulled back and met her eyes. "Shayera ... I'm offering."
Her eyes widened. Had he committed another Thanagarian faux pas or just surprised her? He didn't have time to ponder further as she grabbed his head and kissed him hard, her mask bumping clumsily against his nose. That thing has got to go. But first he had to deal with the two huge wings in his way. He reached up, cupping one of her hands against his cheek.
"Turn over," he said around their kisses.
She broke contact long enough to readjust her position. For the first time, they lay face-to-face in their tiny shelter. John smiled and reached out for her. She came willingly into his embrace, back to his lips. His kiss never stopping, his fingers inched upward, poking the underside of her mask and lifting it away. He discarded it behind her.
His lips slid up to her eyes, to the tip of her nose, to her forehead. "You're beautiful," he told her.
She huffed. "It's dark. You can't even see me."
"I saw you when you were sick."
She shook her head. "I'm sure I was radiant with my near-death look."
"The most gorgeous thing I've ever seen in my entire life."
Continued...