Distant
August 13th
Metropolis
07:48 EDT
From behind the warmth of the door, Wes can hear the rhythm of her cooking. The steady, crisp slices against a wooden board, the oil popping—cackling as it releases into the air an aroma of spices. A blend so dense it can almost be tasted.
Strange.
Other than that, it's silent. She usually listens to the news in the morning—argues with the anchors in broken Portuguese as if they can hear her. But after pressing his ear to the door and waiting, he settles. For some reason, she's cooking in silence.
Wes takes a deep breath, opens the front door a makes a beeline for his room. "Bom dia, mamãe," he utters, words as hurried as his steps.
The cutting stops. "Wait."
Wes sighs, facing his mother who is now approaching him with a stern expression. She's a small woman, about two heads below his height—not naturally imposing, but with a face like that, he feels immediately alerted. As though she can strike him at any moment.
"Yes?" he asks, keeping his tone light.
She crosses her arms, "Where were you these past few days?"
"With friends," Wes shrugs. But this only seems to make her irritated.
"Meu Deus, why lie?"
"I'm not—"
"Superman came yesterday, asking for you," her finger digs into his chest as she says this. "He told me you escaped custody a few days ago."
"Custody?" Wes forces a laugh. "And you believe him?"
"Wes, it's all over the news! You killed—" she winces and bites her fist. Frustration and anger glisten in the form of tears.
The impending guilt makes Wes look away, attention briefly settling on the TV. Her words reveal more than the silence ever could. She has been watching the news. And maybe too much for her own good. Between now and the hours before, it has caused ruin to her day. Imagine: A news anchor telling you your son's a killer.
What is left to argue?
His mother takes in a deep breath, eyes shut as tears stream down her cheeks, "When your father left, I thought things would change for the better. I thought, maybe my son would have a chance to become his own person—to make his own decisions. But I see now that I was very wrong."
He can bear her anger. But disappointment? It's heavy. It's a revelation that cuts him deeply and leaves an acrid taste in his mouth. Though, should he be surprised? The son of a criminal. The shadow of Bronze Tiger. He was born with a countdown over his head—a reminder that it's only a matter of time before he fully became what his mother's family warned her he'll be.
And his mother, as much as she wanted to disbelieve, always seemed to hold a sliver of doubt, hoping and praying that none of it would come true. But now—
Wes swallows, he swears he tastes blood, something congealing in his throat. His jaw tenses."I only did what I had to. I wouldn't even be here if I —"
He's silenced by her turn. A whip of her hair as she grabs a bag from the kitchen counter and shoves it into his hands, "Leave. Now."
He frowns, "Mamãe—"
"I SAID, GO!"
One push and he's forced out of the apartment, feeling only the wind of the door slamming behind him.
Outside, the Metropolis sunlight sets his skin on fire—the pain from every cut, scrape, and bruise awakens beneath the summer rays as he takes a seat on the apartment steps. The neighborhood is alive as ever, adults chat with familiar faces from the comfort of their porch, children scream and play around an open fire hydrant spewing onto the intersection. The water leaves the road glistening. Somewhere distant and beneath the sounds of car horns and alarms is an ice cream truck making its way down the street.
Wes peers into the bag his mother hastily pushed into his arms. Inside lies a white box—the kind they'd receive from local bakers or coffee shops. He recognizes the scent coming from it. And when he opens it to see two rows of coxinhas waiting for him, he doesn't wait before popping one into his mouth.
How long has it been since he's eaten? Three—maybe four—days? Not too long, but long enough for him to melt at the taste of his mother's cooking. Things feel alright, if just for the moment. But in the back of his mind, he thinks of how he's no longer Wes, third year at Metropolis High. He's now Wes, a fugitive and known killer.
He can live with that, for now. The Shadows have been welcoming enough since he took up the mantle in his father's absence. He has a mission, after all. But he's not sure where to start and he's in dire need of sleep—new clothes too. Ah, and his weapons have seen better days as well. Now that he thinks about it…
Those damn kids stole his mask.
"Well, look at that. Little Araújo in the flesh."
Wes glances up at the silhouette of a man. Coxinha in mouth, he glowers. First, he butchered his name with clear intention. Second, despite the jarring pronunciation, Wes immediately recognizes his voice—particularly the grating tease beneath it. And after veiling his eyes from the sun, the man's features become visible.
So Eric Needham—Black Spider—somehow escaped authorities as well.
Wes nearly chokes on the coxinha, "How in the hell—"
"Do you really need to ask? After all, a spider knows its way through the cracks," Eric laughs. He sits, taking a better look at Wes, "Tigers on the other hand, leave carcasses in their wake. I saw the news."
"Did what I had to," Wes dismisses because he rather not discuss the gritty details. Though with a good enough imagination, one could guess. It took him days to get the taste of blood out of his mouth, and he doesn't want to ruin what may be his last good meal with the thought of it.
Eric steals the last of his coxinhas, earning a look of protest from Wes. He pops the whole thing in his mouth, "Word's going around that you're looking into the girl from that team of brats we fought."
Wes sighs, internally mourning the meal. He had planned to savor the last bite, and now he regrets eating the previous few so quickly. "I was. Problem is, Sensei failed to give me a decent head start."
"Why not try DC?" Eric suggests, licking his fingers with thought. He grins, "Your mom made these? Is she still single?"
Wes ignores his last question. "Why DC?"
Eric smiles, "Ever heard of Cadmus?"
He nods. He has heard of Cadmus. Briefly—in fact, only once. All he recalls is the place specializes in genetics, or something of that sort. But it burned down early July after some of the Justice League's brats infiltrated—
"No way," Wes murmurs.
As if disbelief is his cue, Eric rises and dusts off his pants. "The girl's aunt lives and works there, apparently. Might wanna give the city a visit." He gives Wes a teasing grin. "Just watch out for the flying Amazon."
15:28 EDT
Mount Justice
"The worst kind of enemy is the one you can't see coming. Which is why you must always stay on your toes and think ahead." Captain Atom's words grow distant as the minutes tick by. They become like a haze, fading into the background as Novia's mind begins to wander. Her thoughts skipping along the striations of the walls.
She could have bested Tiger without Kid or M'gann's interference. If only she had read his moves. Evaded that kick. Shattered before falling through the roof. Leg sweep him the moment he caught her fist. She could've—
Her eyes flicker up, skin crawling at the touch of glass. It had been distant at first—easily ignored. But now she's become more aware of how thin the light bulbs are.
Novia forces her attention to shift back to Captain Atom, finally trying to keep up with his words mid-sentence. He's still giving his lecture on espionage. Now rambling on about the importance of studying the target.
And it seems she isn't the only one drifting off into other worlds. Beside her, Robin hangs his head, arms folded in utter boredom. The others as well make no effort to feign attentiveness. Wally has been eating a banana throughout, leisurely pulling out the strands; Artemis plays with a string of gum between her teeth, and M'gann gazes at a yawning Superboy.
But at least Kaldur is taking notes. He's been jotting down something in his notebook with deep thought.
Suddenly, Captain Atom sighs, "This is boring, isn't it?"
The team all watches in collective silence, until M'gann pipes up, "Oh…no Captain, it's quite—"
"Yeah, it's boring," Superboy interjects.
Atom's disappointment isn't unreadable, just emphasized in the glow of his eyes. He shifts his weight, "Alright, let's see if you can learn on the field."
The lesson disintegrates from the screen only to be replaced with the profile of a man who is clearly of the military—the suit confirming what the buzz cut cannot. He has a stern face and piercing blue eyes that indicate he's in his early thirties.
"This is a cold case. Vietnam Era," Atom begins, gesturing to the man on the screen, "This is Captain Nathaniel Adams, United States Air Force. Convicted in 1968 of murdering Air Force General, Clement Lamar."
"Adams died in prison, but I've received a reliable tip that he was framed," Atom says. He points at the teens, "Your assignment: Investigate. Prove Adam's innocence or reconfirm his guilt and report back to me,"
Superboy raises a brow, "Really? You need a super-powered team for this?"
Captain Atom nods, returning the lesson to the screen, "Understandable, we can continue the lec—"
"NO!" The others exclaim.
Atom grins with satisfaction. He waves them off, "Alright then, get to it."
Novia slowly gathers her things, now wondering if she could've won had she just pushed Tiger from the roof. It wouldn't kill him, right? He's a Shadow. Agile. He's supposed to be light on his feet, and she is pretty sure he's experienced worse. Besides—
"Daydreaming won't do any good in the field, Spence."
Captain Atom's words make her heart jump. Her skin prickles as heat builds within her cheeks.
"I know! I know!" Novia stumbles over her desk as she tries to leave for the washroom. She pauses upon noticing that Kaldur has left his notebook. It doesn't surprise her that the pages are filled with notes. But she believes it's her first time seeing his handwriting. His words are small and neat, conjoined almost like cursive but not quite as she soon realizes none of the words are English.
She frowns. It's all Atlantean. A language that she's none too familiar with despite her school offering it at an introductory level. Suddenly she can't remember exactly why two years of French felt more important.
But from the looks of it, his note-taking is extensive. Though his ink wanders abruptly, dropping to write one word in bold at the center of the page:
Tυλα
18:56 HDT
Honolulu
There's nothing to love about Hawaii because it reminds her too much of home. Home reminds her of the lies she's constructed around it—lies she's built to protect the ones she loves. It's the reason why she detaches herself from the scenery, hoping that the Eiling siblings would quicken the pace and tell them what they need to know.
"As if," Randy Eiling grumbles. "Nathaniel Adams was a traitor to our nation. Imagine murdering your superior officer in cold blood then lying about it before the court."
Peggy Eiling sharply nudges him, "Randy, you know that's not what happened. I don't believe it happened and our mother doesn't either."
Randy sighs, "Sis, I love you, but your opinion doesn't count. You were born long after dad died in prison."
Artemis raises a brow, now looking to Randy, "But why did you think your father would do it?"
"Nathaniel—" Randy pauses, catching his sister's glare, "—dad always had this thing for 'upholding justice'. He'd do anything to stay on what he thought was the right side. And I dare say that would include killing his superior."
"What if it was an accident?" Novia asks. The two siblings watch her as though she has just appeared from nowhere.
Peggy clears her throat, discomforted.
"Bull. You don't stab someone in their carotid artery by accident." Randy says. "Besides, if it was an accident, he'd still be guilty of murder—involuntary or otherwise."
Novia watches him quietly. But in truth, his words make her feel sick. Disturbed. Of course, the image of Nathaniel Adams murdering his superior flashes in her mind the moment he uttered those words. But she envisions worse things as well.
She takes in a breath, glancing at Kaldur in hopes that he will interject, but he doesn't. Instead, the Atlantean beside her remains distant—lost somewhere amongst the far-off waves as though they are the ones speaking to him. He doesn't even offer his attention to the real conversation before him. And his obvious departure makes it all the more difficult for Novia to remain interested in the situation—much less the mission at hand.
She quietly excuses herself from the table, making her way up the steps to the hotel lobby. Inside, she finds herself liberated from the sea salt air—a world once warm now replaced with an artificial chill.
Beneath the flourishing lights of chandeliers, she becomes a drop in the ocean of tourists. She moves against the flow, pushing past the wide-eyed crowd and evading the children that ran between legs. She ignores the natives, feeling particularly bittered by their antics—how they're forced to become poseurs, perfecting the balancing act of patient ignorance and savage wisdom. Or whatever in-betweens to please the tourist.
Soon, the aimless wandering rewards her, and she finds a restroom nestled at the end of a secluded hall. It's easily missed, concealed by fake pineapple trees whose fronds cover the entrance.
She splashes cold water over her face, skin crawling from the feeling of the mirror and overhead lights. This is it. Stage one. Back at the airport. Cadmus is burning as she gazes down at the stream of water gurgling over porcelain. She tries to ebb away from the hysterics—ignore the immutable feeling that she is being watched. Yet, she can't bring herself to look in the mirror.
He's in there somewhere, hiding in her peripheral—has been since her run-in with the Shadows. He's hoping for the day she'll slip up. And that day just won't come soon enough.
What if it was an accident?
"Shut up," she murmurs.
You don't stab someone in the carotid artery by accident.
"Shut up."
He'd still be gui—
"SHUT UP."
The mirror shatters, and shards graze her cheeks. The overhead lights burst into sharp rain, leaving her in pitch-black darkness. For a moment, Novia finds relief in the silence. But the glass is still here, murmuring their tired words. Taunting her. She can feel it—hands groping her skin.
She shakes the shards out of her hair and retrieves her phone with clammy hands. The light, at first blinding, becomes a beacon. It promises her that she can leave. A taxi is one call away. Inouye International isn't that long of a drive.
She closes her eyes tight. The phone rings, but only for a short while.
"Novia?"
"Dad?" she tries to smile despite her voice being hollow.
"It's late—" He pauses, "Is something wrong?"
"I—" Words refuse to form.
"Is that glass?" Her father asks, no doubt hearing the crack beneath her feet. "Where are you?"
Hawaii.
"The bathroom," she swallows. Pressure builds in her chest. "I…did it again. I don't know if I can fix it."
A shift. "You need to breathe like we practiced."
She doesn't. Can't. It's as though something is gripping her throat, trying to constrict what's left of her breath. And maybe he senses this too.
"Distance yourself. Block out all the noise."
Novia nods, inaudible trembles of her lip. She tries to distance herself. To think of something other than the whispers, the calls—
HIS SCREAMS
She falls to her knees. Glass digging into her skin. She tries to vitrify—cut the noise off before it spreads. But—
"Breathe, Novia," her father's voice manages to break through. But every time she opens her mouth, nothing flows in.
"Think of what calms you. What brings you peace."
Peace. Peace? What can bring her peace at a time like this? Home, maybe. But those memories refuse to surface. Every thought of the ocean brings images of roiling water. The beaches she grew up in, overcrowded. Loud.
School?
No. Not enough peaceful moments there. But something chips through the corrosion. It's soft at first—distant and easily mistakable. Soon, it develops like blotches in the dark.
The Cave. Its kitchen. An array of lights still misty and gathering its outlines. The girl before her is clearly M'gann. She's humming to herself as she fiddles with something, kneeling before a contraption to pull out—
Ding!
That smell. That familiar warmth. It has to be cookies.
M'gann calls over Superboy, her reluctant guinea pig. Quality doesn't determine itself. But his descriptions are always monosyllables. Fine isn't as helpful as he may think. So there's always Wally—bright-eyed, eager Wally—who'll volunteer. He zips by, taking a bite of the cookie. Of course it's delicious but nothing could ever compare to her beauty.
And that's when Artemis rolls her eyes, and shoots Wally an insult that is sure to make him retort. Their bickering is inevitable at this point. Expected, yet Novia's heart flutters at Robin's laugh. His amusement like bells—only grating when it's at her expense but here its… different.
Kaldur offers her a cookie in his still-water voice, and she accepts because it's Kaldur. She doesn't hear the far-off tremble of the glass. The simultaneous shift that should tell her something is changing. She's too busy turning the cookie in her fingers, feeling the rigid edges—how soft they become when broken. Its chocolate center oozing onto her fingers.
Is this it then? Her peace? The moments that make her warm, bring streams of tears down her face.
Suddenly, she lapses to the bathroom that took her sanity. It's in its original state. Bright lights, a mirror of walls. Not a sign of the chaos that drew onto herself. The scent of artificial pineapples seeps through an unseen diffuser. Silence is placated by running water and distant sounds filter in from the lobby.
More importantly, she can breathe. Not without some hesitation, however. The part of her that suspects it's all a dream takes time convincing.
With an infirm hand, she raises the phone to her ear. He's still there, gratefully. "Thanks."
Her father has gone silent. Back to his walled, cold self. "Just be careful next time. Alright?"
"Alright."
And like that, he's gone.
She's fine with that, she thinks. It's just how dads are. Only there to fix messes and avert crises. His love is concern, and only that. She's learned to take his measured gaze for what it is—the heavy consideration a professional gives when dealing with a bomb. Diffusion has always been his job. His form of love. And maybe it's all he can afford.
"There you are."
Artemis enters the bathroom casually, sandals in hand. She parses through the stalls in search of occupants. And when the coast is clear, she joins Novia by the sinks.
Her brow raises, "You okay?"
"A bit nauseous," Novia admits. "Period."
A lie of course. But it's not like she'll check.
"You need anything? Tampons? Pads?" Artemis asks with a genuine concern Novia never expected she'd carry. Is this the same girl so easily irritated by Wally?
Novia grimaces, "I'll be fine. Honestly."
"Alright. But if you change your mind…" Artemis tugs the band from her hair and begins combing through with her fingers. Only now Novia notices how her skin carries the scent of the sea. The hem of her dress is soaked, clinging to her sand-dusted ankles.
She kicks on her shoes. "Kaldur and I were just talking and we agreed that Peggy and Randy both sound like a dead end."
"I'm beginning to think Nate Adams might actually be guilty," she sighs, pulling her hair back into a ponytail once more. Then she looks to Novia, "What do you think?"
"I don't know," Novia says. It's all she can say after surfacing from her previous thoughts. She places her phone in her pocket, hiding the fact she was truly searching for directions to the nearest airport.
Artemis raises a brow, "You don't think it could still be an accident? I remember you mentioning it might."
"Accident or not, it'll still make him guilty," Novia says, echoing Randy's words. Even coming from her, it still makes her stomach swirl.
Artemis frowns, releasing a long groan because the investigation seems more convoluted than Captain Atom let on. Before she can say anything more, her phone buzzes—both of their phones buzz.
Artemis is the first to check, "Looks like the others found something. They're on their way."
§§§
Strange enough, Novia finds comfort being far away from the resort—even aware that the desolate clearing they stand on is not too far from Mauna Loa. She'll take an active volcano over a tourist hot spot any day.
The wind from the Bio-Ship overhead whips dust around them as it leaves camouflage mode. Kid Flash is the first to appear at the entrance. His eyes still alight from a recent rush of adrenaline.
"You won't believe what we're up against!" he exclaims over the winds.
Artemis scoffs as they board, "Let me guess: ninjas?"
M'gann offers a cautious smile from the pilot seat, "Well, close."
"Not close enough," Robin says. "We ran into a samurai."
"So, business as usual?" Novia comments as she nestles into an emerging seat, finally easing. For some reason, a samurai feels more normal than robot monkeys and clone experiments.
"Business as usual," Robin agrees, taking to the center of the ship. A console rises to meet him and he enters something into the keypad. Images emerge to reveal the aforementioned samurai with a glowing sword.
"This is the guy we found in General Trang's home just moments before he assassinated General Trang."
Novia's attention abruptly shifts, realizing Superboy has been reserved to the corner the entire time. Though his arms are folded over his chest, it does little to hide the conspicuous tear in his shirt.
Artemis places a hand on her hip, eyes narrowing at the image of the samurai. "So why would Cruise here assassinate General Trang?"
Robin focuses on the image. "Trang likely knew something. Definitely not a witness or he would've testified during—"
Rrrrrrtttt
All eyes settle on Kid. The boy looks up from his rumbling stomach, "You guys think we could discuss this over some food? I haven't eaten since—" he checks his wristwatch, "—literally yesterday."
Novia frowns, "You didn't eat at the casino?"
"Of course. All you can eat." But it goes without saying, that it wasn't enough.
M'gann giggles, "Well I'm fine with stopping somewhere if our leader approves."
There's silence. Anticipation. Only then does Novia remember that the silhouette to her right is Kaldur. Who is, for some reason, still distant. He gazes off at the night, chin resting on his fist. Whatever he's thinking must be vivid—important. Because the obvious silence doesn't tear him away from it. She clears her throat.
Kaldur blinks, eyes flickering to her and then the rest of the team. "I apologize. I was thinking of the mission."
"We were just wondering if it would be alright to make a quick stop somewhere," M'gann says.
"Yes, of course."
"Sweet!" Kid cheers.
Novia can't count the hours they spend over the black expanse of sea and deserted lands. She thinks she dozes off at some point, waking to a terrain littered with lights of urban sprawl. The welcome sign to Metropolis glows beneath grand flood lights. Under camouflage mode, the Bio-Ship maneuvers past lingering blimps and slips between skyscrapers.
She swears, apart from DC, Metropolis has to be the most active city in the States. Even in the dead of night, people still wander about the streets.
M'gann lands the ship a small distance away from a restaurant. The neon sign blinks "Bibbo's Diner", and from the glass windows, it seems quite deserted.
"Here we are," M'gann says, standing from the cockpit. It takes Novia a few moments to realize that the Bio-Ship has begun to mold into a different form. Its contours tighten into something more familiar to Earth—vehicular rather than extraterrestrial. It finally leaves camouflage mode, toting the form of an RV.
"There's no way you're going in there like that," Robin comments, gesturing to M'gann's green form.
She smiles coyly, "Like what?"
Her green skin suddenly lightens, becoming flush in its new shade. Now Caucasian, her freckles are more prominent and the auburn shade of her hair falls muted.
Kid's mouth drops with awe as she does a little spin.
"Well, what are we waiting for? Last one in is a rotten egg!" She flits out of the RV and the speedster dashes after her.
The rest enter the diner following an exchange of baffled glances. Bibbo's gives off a retro feel—checkered floors, a single enclosed bar, and a display case filled with in-house desserts. Novia finds herself peering down into the jukebox by the entrance as the others grab a seat.
She flips through the endless listing—not too sure if she even brought her wallet, much less a quarter. But curiosity encourages her to see what it offers.
Earth Wind & Fire, Nirvana, Jackson 5, Bill Withers, Donna Summer, The Bee Gees, AC/DC, Diana Ross, Prince, Kiss—
"Alright kids, isn't it way past your bedtime?" Novia glances back at the others, the table now accompanied by the business owner, who—in all honesty—looks too intimidating to be running a restaurant.
"We were just in town looking for a bite to eat, " Wally says.
The man crosses his arms, still skeptical, "And how will you be paying for this 'bite to eat'?"
"He got's it covered," Wally casually points to Robin who jabs him in the arm.
The man's eyes narrow, "Just so long as you kids know I don't take too kindly to dine-and-dasher's"
"No worries, Mr. Bibbowski. We actually won't be here long," M'gann assures him in her sweet naive tone. Though he's reluctant, he hands them their menus. Naturally, Wally is the only one to order.
"Great! I'll take two trays of fries, a double patty burger—no, make that triple. Some onion rings, extra crispy. Mozzarella sticks. A basket of buffalo wings—blue cheese dressing, of course. Oh! I almost forgot about the appetizer! How about your best nachos for the table?"
Bibbo's mouth hangs open with a face doused in astonishment. He makes no verbal comment, rather scribbling something in his notepad as confirmation. Then he clears his throat, "I take it that will be all?"
Kid hums in consideration, "Well, I know it's past midnight, but would it be possible to still get waffles?"
"So waffles too, huh?" Mr. Bibbowski mutters. "Alright boy, I'll get the iron started for you."
Novia returns to the table, slight pout because not a single quarter can be found in her pockets. "Anyone have a quarter?"
Simultaneously all eyes settle on Robin. He frowns, "What am I? This team's piggy bank?"
"The tiny mascot, actually," Novia states. Wally withholds a snicker. She glances back at the kitchen where Bibbo Bibbowski is hard at work. "Hey, Mr. Bibbowski! Can we get a booster seat for our—"
Robin slams two shiny quarters on the table, teeth clenched, "Just—make sure your first pick is Nirvana."
Novia shrugs, "Whatever you say." She's just pleased to have her quarters, even if it means having to put Robin's preference first. She never listened to Nirvana prior, and she has no idea what each song listing entails. So her choice becomes impulsive—like a game of roshambo.
The quarter makes a resounding clink as it falls into the slot. At the first couple rifts of guitar, she feels Robin snicker in her head, never noticing that M'gann has established the mind-link until now.
What? Is this not 'Nirvana' enough? Novia scolds.
What do you mean? 'Come As You Are' is a classic.
You're telling me? Had to listen to this song everyday because my— Artemis pauses —friend used to play it constantly.
Wow, so you actually have friends? Wally remarks, smiling widely even when faced with Artemis' glare.
Robin quickly changes the subject, clearing his throat. Everyone check your phones. Did everyone download the annotated photo M'gann and I found in the dead woman's hand?
Yes, Robin, M'gann responds.
Check, Wally says.
Yeah, Artemis confirms.
Yes, Kaldur says.
Sure, Novia says, belatedly scrolling through her phone's new messages to find an image depicting a group of military officials and a child. It's an old photo, judging by the clothing of the officials and how washed out the image is. Robin has taken the time to identify each person with small bullet points. There's the General Trang that was mentioned earlier, standing above the child as though he is their guardian. Behind Trang are two men, Henry Yarrow and Alec Rois.
There's a silence in the mind-link, and although feeling the anticipation, Novia continues to scroll through the listings. She ultimately settles with Donna Summer, adding the queen of disco to the queue. But she can't believe they also have Cheryl Lynn. The woman only has one good—
Um. Superboy? M'gann calls.
What? Yeah. Photo downloaded. He responds, yet his thoughts are distracted. Flustered, which is difficult to ignore when they're sharing the same consciousness.
Is it your wound? Does it still hurt? M'gann presses.
You were wounded? Artemis' asks, adding to the fog of concern growing in the mind-link. Even Novia finds herself removed from the jukebox, glancing back at the others. But before anyone else can inquire, Superboy's outburst shatters all intentions.
It was just a scratch!
Novia recoils from a small headache. What isn't said or thought of remains detectable through the silence. The wound calls into question his Kryptonian DNA. And that doesn't sit right with him.
He suddenly rises from the table, heading straight for the restroom. Just move on. I'm fine.
Novia no longer feels him in the mind-link. His anger, disdain, embarrassment—all of it withering away.
She slowly takes the abandoned seat, slightly frazzled. Even Bibbo, completely excluded from the telepathic conversation, approaches their table with a face contorted by confusion. He nearly drops their drinks, having to tear his attention from Superboy.
Uh… Should we stop him…? M'gann asks, trying to hide the anxiety clouding her mind.
Novia frowns, taking a slow sip of her water to ease the pangs, Stop him from what? Peeing?
M'gann blushes, Sorry, he just seemed very bothered.
Artemis leans into her seat, Yeah, and I'm sure following him into the men's room would brighten his spirits.
Give Superboy some time to cool off, Aqualad's orders are sharp, yet it's hard to miss the waver in his thoughts. He was distracted. But by what? His thoughts refuse to reveal. Robin, continue.
Robin nods, refocusing on the picture. So facial recognition software has identified almost everyone in this photo, which we think was taken in 1968. The year Adams was charged with murder.
The only players not in the photo are Nathaniel Adams himself and General Wade Eiling, who was the judge at Adams' court martial. He sentenced Adams' to life in prison, where he died. After which Eiling married Adams' wife and raised his two children Randall and Peggy.
Wally's smirk can be felt through the mind-link, Sentences a man and proceeds to marry his wife. Dude must've been great with the ladies.
And of course, you'd applaud this. Artemis scowls, rolling her eyes.
It's creepy. Reads like a page from The Count of Monte Cristo, Novia interjects. Shouldn't we be keeping tabs on Wade?
Sounds too good to be true, Robin declines. And I hate to say it, but not every investigation goes down like your favorite novel.
Novia bites her straw, Never said it was my favorite novel.
How about the assassin? Trang referred to him as Rako, M'gann chimes in, her thoughts fixate on the image of the boy. He also mentioned he protected Rako since he was a child. But Rako said he was loyal to someone other than Trang.
Robin nods, And it's a good bet that "someone" was our missing CIA spook Alec Rois. His thoughts focus on the image of the curly-headed Alec Rois. His dossier listed numerous nasty specialties, including demolition and brainwashing.
A sudden revelation sends a shock through Artemis—through them all. Now that you mentioned the assassin, this photograph is looking more and more like a hit list. It's likely Rois and Rako found out we were investigating the Adams case—
So they decided to tie up the loose ends. Which only leaves Seargent Polk or Adams' old friend Henry Yarrow. Wally finishes, ignoring her look to focus on Kaldur. So what's our next move, boss-man?
Kaldur looks up from his phone. Our next move? We split up. Robin, Superboy, and Kid, keep tabs on Yarrow. The rest of us will investigate Polk here in Metropolis.
Kid crosses his arms, Smooth Kal. Very smooth.
The Atlantean raises a brow, visibly lost, I'm sorry?
You put yourself on the girl's team. Buddy, you need to be more discreet than that.
That… wasn't my intention. But if you believe I'm being unfair. Artemis, would yo—
Pass, Artemis leaves the table and heads straight out of the diner.
"Didn't want you on my team anyway!" Wally shouts after her. But his stomach rumbles at the sight of Bibbo arriving with his heaps of food—stacks of waffles with warm syrup filling its pockets; trays of golden fries and onion rings assorted around mozzarella sticks, fresh out the fryer; a large burger, triple stacked and still sizzling; and a big basket of wings accompanied with a bowl of nachos
Wally gazes at the meal expectantly, but he sighs, realizing he can't finish all of it without his super speed—especially when they're trying to out-pace a double-assassination.
Defeated he rises from the table. "Sorry Mr. Bibbowski, but it looks like we'll have to take these to go."
Metropolis
03:20 EDT
She never thought she needed this. The glittering skyline, the wind resisting her shards. It brings her to suddenly realign at the tip of a skyscraper. The ring of a massive globe overlooking the Daily Planet.
Gazing at Metropolis in the dead of night makes her feel as though she's watching stars beneath her. Light sometimes winds through dark paths, blinking in distant colors. Novia lacks the urgency—the adrenaline that should be coursing through her with the constant reminder that they're after the hunted.
She takes in a deep breath, the air oddly filling as she thinks how lucky Superman is to have this view every night. But she backtracks, now coming to the realization that a view can hardly placate the feeling of danger. Something that the Kryptonian likely hears every passing moment within this sprawling city.
She steps forward, suddenly dropping from the edge of the globe, the skyscraper zipping by as she withers away into the alley below. Claiming back her human state, she steps out onto the streets of an older neighborhood.
It's quiet except for the small group of teens gathered at the front of a convenience store, their bikes scattered along the curb as they talk amongst themselves. Novia watches them from afar, taking in their smiles, their teasings, their playful hits of the arm.
She shakes her head, backtracking. There isn't time for this. She needs to reconvene with the others, prevent an assassination. And though she pushes the sense of urgency, manages to vitrify halfway, she suddenly pauses. Something caught her eye.
There, at the window of the convenience store sits a TV broadcasting the latest news. Two anchors sit side-by-side before a video replay of authorities escorting journalists away from a crime scene. Much of the video is blurred. But what the images fail to convey, the anchors soon explain.
"Authorities are still searching for two suspects charged with the attempted murder of Dr. Serling Roquette," says the anchor on the left, an older woman with an unsettled expression. "Former native of Metropolis, Wes Araújo, is one of the suspects still at large. If by any chance you've seen him, please contact the MPD."
Her partner straightens his papers with a small nod of accord, "We'd ask you not to engage with the suspect should you see him. He may be armed and he is quite dangerous. I repeat: Do not be a hero."
The woman forces a laugh that almost sounds natural. "That's right. Leave it to Superman."
Novia shatters before the window could, earning astonished cries from the teenagers as she takes to the sky. She's once more with the wind. A cloud of fragments in the dark, drifting above a scintillating city. How dare she think this place is beautiful? A sight to behold? It's just a mask for all the vermin that crawl in the alleys. And, of course, the worst vermin just so happens to be born here.
Metropolis is shit.
Novia finds Kaldur and the others in an upper suburban neighborhood disconnected from the city sprawl by a small waterway. They lay low amongst the dense shrubbery, likely waiting for her—which she feels remorse for, now recalling what all is at stake.
"Got lost?" Artemis' smile hints at a shrewdness in the question.
"A bit," Novia says. She can't think of any other excuse. Yet she feels Kaldur's gaze on her nonetheless."Sorry."
"It would be wise next time to keep close," he suggests.
"Right," she nods absentmindedly. The image of Wes still pokes at her thoughts, making her annoyed but anxious at the same time. She forces it away, however, realizing that M'gann will soon reestablish the mind-link and the last thing she wants her teammates to know is how much she's been mulling over the assassin.
Scratch that. It's the second to last thing she wants them to know.
Kaldur rises and peers through the fence. His focus stays on the large house for a while. Its layout is odd, more modern with the typical conventions of a house altered or completely ignored. For one, there are no doors leading into the expansive backyard—well, nothing beyond the garage that is a separate building in itself—a carport. Then there's the walls, or lack thereof. Most of the home is windows. Pure, transparent glass.
Polk must be rich. Living well with a good veteran pension.
"It's quiet," Kaldur notes. Not a single light is on within the massive home. No car to be found either.
"Maybe he's sleeping?" M'gann though hopeful, raises a brow of uncertainty.
"Possibly," Kaldur says. Then he straightens, "M'gann enter camouflage mode. See if you can get a closer look at the interior. We'll scope out the perimeter."
Roger. M'gann fades into a wavering air, leaving only the presence of a mind-link. Kaldur rises from behind the bushes and gestures for the others to follow. He places his back against the fence, and lowers onto one knee with his fingers interlocked before him. A boost.
Be careful, he warns.
Artemis is first, with a running head start. She flies over the fence and lands on her feet with cat-like grace. Kaldur then nods to Novia. The girl smiles then shatters, reforming on the other side.
She feels Kaldur's sigh in her thoughts, hears him land beside her not too long after. Of course, it's followed by a word of caution about her powers—specifically about reserving energy. Yet, she pushes past these telepathic intrusions, not because she's ignoring him but because something else suddenly takes precedence.
It's a familiar feeling, overlooked not too long ago because—well, why?
She had been impatient. Preoccupied. Stupid. Or maybe she just didn't care then, thought little of it. But now.
Now—
It's important.
Through the windows of the house, she feels absolutely nothing. Just darkness. Silence. The unmistakable feeling of a room filled with air and only that. Her eyes dart rapidly behind closed lids, searching the windows and combing the lights above the halls with all of her presence. Dismayed, she withdraws, snapping back into the backyard with Kaldur and Artemis in her peripheral.
She must be mistaken. But then, suddenly, M'gann confirms it.
No one's home.
August 14th
St. George
03:26 MDT
"Looks like things are coming full circle," Artemis comments as the team follows Robin through the abandoned airbase.
Robin's attention remains on his wrist-computer. "Let's hope it stays that way. Any deviation from the evidence, and we're screwed big time."
They've been examining the large hangars. Each one of them empty with not a single aircraft left behind. From the looks of the broken glass and dilapidated structures, the airbase has been abandoned for a while now. Derelict and forgotten. Making it a perfect place to hide something.
Or someone.
They suddenly stop at a particular hangar, this one being the only one with its metal doors slid ajar. Through the small crack comes only darkness. But whatever keeps pinging on Robin's computer prompts him to slide it open with Superboy's assistance.
"Let's just get this over with," Superboy huffs into the drafty abyss. It returns an echo followed by an eerie silence and the thick smell of mildew.
"For once, I agree."
The doors slam shut and the overhanging lights come on one by one with palpable bursts. The teens' attention fixates on the origin of the voice to find an older man looking down upon them from the scaffolds. His grin is complacent, or rather—should Novia dare think it—shit-eating.
"Welcome to the party," he says in a not too receptive manner. Two other men surround them, with similar expressions. Dubious, but otherwise fully anticipated. And, as Robin cautioned earlier, one of them is a samurai.
"So they weren't joking," Novia murmurs, gawking at the man clad in armor. His sword strikes her as strange, specifically the energy it gives off. It hums and cackles like electricity and she can feel it through her glass form, rippling like many stones falling into a pond.
"Almost had us fooled, Henry Yarrow," Kid calls to the man on the scaffolds. "For a second there we really thought you were dead."
"And I bet your buddy Alec Rois here helped you stage it whilst also getting rid of Sergeant Polk in the process," Artemis adds.
M'gann points at the samurai. "And you must be Rako. General Trang's protege turned murderer."
Henry Yarrow's laugh echoes throughout the hangar, sending chills down Novia's spine. "You children are oddly calm considering you're trapped. Do you actually believe you'll survive to share all this information?"
"Well, we outnumber you seven to three," Kid shrugs.
Henry's smile widens at those words. He gestures to Alec Rois who nods. Superboy perks up, alerted and clearly hearing something but also refusing to say what.
"A word of advice from my many years in service," Henry snarls. "Quality always trumps quantity."
Alec raises a hand. A fist tense around what seems to be a switch. And if Robin's earlier observations were right, then bombs are most certainly involved.
"You do anything that makes Alec unhappy—or if his finger slips from that switch—you kids'll learn the meaning of outnumbered."
"So you're willing to die as well? Just so your secret doesn't get out?" Novia shouts.
Henry's eyes fall to her with harsh consideration. A fierce blue that seems to only be colder from age. "I'm willing to do whatever it takes."
Suddenly, Novia shatters at a flash of light cutting through the air. She realigns at a distance, facing the encroaching samurai. Her body hisses and she instinctively clutches the affected area. A fracture in her torso, but not just that. Her skin is showing as well.
She recalls this feeling, how it's much like that gun Sportsmaster used on her.
"You've got to be kidding me," Novia spits. These damned limitations.
Rako laughs, "If it can cut through a Kryptonian, girlie, then you can bet it'll make ribbons out of you."
The thing is, she doesn't doubt that. But it leaves her unsure now how to fight him. She knew off the back that his sword was strange—but she never expected it to be this strange. She can't get too close, and with a weapon like that, his reach is expanded tenfold.
Think.
He lunges once more and Novia forces herself to shatter. Her shards get caught in his sidelong strike, and she realizes belatedly that he was anticipating this—her decision to evade. The rippling air of the sword sends its currents through her, disorienting her focus and ripping her from a vitreous state.
"Nng!" Novia slams against an iron vat, pain awakening from the time Wes kicked her through the roof. It sends her nails to vitrify, digging into metal for support as she rights herself.
She suddenly whirls as Rako plunges his sword into the vat. The sound of it cackling in her ear gives her enough adrenaline to drive a vitrified elbow into the samurai's face. With a clack, his helmet shatters and he doubles into himself.
Novia winces deeply, staggers back because the blow hurt her too. Her glass state is too brittle—still suffering from the energy of the sword. She watches Rako grip his nose with a metal fist. He spits something in a foreign tongue—a curse maybe—before yanking the blade from the vat.
Think.
She can maybe vitrify. It'll be painful, but—
Her awareness of the glass ceiling heightens. Yet she pulls away and focuses on Rako. The man raises his sword and she feels the cracks form along her body.
Abruptly, Rako freezes. A sphere of water engulfs his head, lifting him up with steady force. The samurai's sword clatters to the floor as he gurgles in resistance, trying to fight suffocation. At the other end, Kaldur watches with intent. Focused as his tattoos blaze with power. Rako finally surrenders and the Atlantean releases him.
"I had him you know," Novia huffs, rubbing her back. Kaldur didn't need to interfere. Her plan would've worked. She winces at a sharp pain. Maybe.
"Of course," Kaldur says, without inflection. And whether he means it in a sarcastic way or with sincerity, Novia fails to discern. He checks Rako's pulse with a steady hand, somehow finding the time to care for a man who intended to kill them. Then he turns to her. "May I?"
"Nothing's broken," she mumbles, feeling warm for some reason. Her pent-up frustration languishes at the offer. At Kaldur being… Kaldur. She sighs, "And… your help is appreciated."
It's a mutter that even she barely hears over the commotion. But Kaldur smiles faintly, placing a hand on her shoulder. "It's what this team is for."
She sees it fully now that they're close to each other. Something is off. It's in his eyes (it's always in the eyes when it comes to people). Kaldur's forcing something. Not kindness, because that is who he is by nature. He's forcing contentment. He's been distant all day, deep in his thoughts. It started with the notebook, then lingered throughout their talk with the Eiling siblings, and even continued as they were on their way to Metropolis.
"Kal—"
Gunshot rings out from the scaffolds, a thump following not too long after. Novia's heart flutters at the sound, how silent it leaves the hangar in the aftermath. Above is Robin and Superboy watching M'gann as she hovers over Henry Yarrow's dying body. Her eyes glow momentarily before closing.
Artemis and Kid Flash somehow cooperated into taking down Alec Rois, leaving his trigger hand encased in some sort of foam. The man lies in the shell of his former self, franticly whimpering on the ground.
It's clearly over. Yet why does relief refuse to manifest?
The Cave
22:19 EDT
In the library, she flips carefully through the pages of an old Atlantean lexicon, searching for the right symbols that matched the words in Kaldur's notebook. The pages are old, filmy and discolored, carrying a scent that she can only describe as paper after it has been wet and simultaneously dried multiple times.
Part of her believes that the tapping of her fingers is making the search easier. That part of her becomes validated with every found Atlantean symbol being paired with its English translation.
T. T.
Υ. U.
Λ. L.
A. A.
"Tu…la?" Novia murmurs. Slow and unintentionally cautious as if the word carries some sort of primordial power. For all she knows, muttering it can tear open a portal to another dimension. But when nothing comes—no signs of irregularity disturbing the silence of the library—she frowns.
Tula.
So, it's a girl's name? she thinks after some time. It's a thought she has to sit on for a while, because why would Kaldur write a girl's name in his notebook? Unless…
No. It's not like him. But—the hell does she know? She hasn't known him for more than three months. And yet, she's positive he wouldn't have girls on his mind. It's just not like Kaldur. Leader, Kaldur. Silent yet respectful, Kaldur. He should be on girls' minds. Well—she at least knows some girls back home who would fawn over him. He isn't bad looking, and he certainly has the personality. Definitely a giver rather than a receiver, yet—
Okay focus, Novia.
She bites her lip, wondering when and if Kaldur has ever uttered this girl's name before. He doesn't share much, but at least he shows more vulnerability than Robin ever will. So he isn't that hard of a code to crack—moreso a sequence one must pay close attention to.
He could have mentioned her even once. Briefly. And, knowing him, he will seldom bring up his personal life during a mission. That leaves their less stressful moments—those times few and far between when they're not fighting criminals. Those moments she can count on one hand.
They went camping late July as a part of a "bonding exercise" (it was actually the sabotage of Wally's time with M'gann, but still bonding nonetheless). M'gann encouraged everyone to share about their lives—everything up until now. Listening to them left an unrelenting taste of impostor syndrome in Novia's mouth. She can taste it even now. But then, she wanted the night to end because Robin had laughed at how mundane her story was.
She gutted out too much, left her past hollow. Maybe it's for the better. But at least she had more to share than Superboy.
And then there was Kaldur's.
Soldier at twelve. Sorcery student at fourteen. Protégé just months following. She can't imagine any of it being easy. But he never said it was—sequence, remember? Small hints and patterns that can be caught with a careful ear. And though he smiled that night, there was wistfulness in his eyes.
I miss my friends.
Garth. Tula.
And there it is. A distant friend.
Novia's eyes fall to the notebook. She tries to imagine a face with the name, the words so leisurely drawn. The longer she stares at Kaldur's handwriting, the more and more it feels like the outcome of a reverie. Longing is etched into the ink. Care and—
Oh.
It strikes her in a way she can no longer ignore. She smiles, not happy but certainly something. That settles it, she realizes.
Kaldur is in love.
A/N: It's been a while!
I've never really dropped this fic. Just kept it on the back burner and would work on bits here and there. So there are future chapters that are drafted but not fully edited/fleshed out.
I'll be flipping through previous chaps to make sure some of the formatting hasn't gone awry (my poor decision to keep the telepathic convos in italics). And, of course, I'll be conducting my periodical typo check.
As always, enjoy. Appreciate the reads, comments, follows, & favs. Until next time!