"Okay, bro, I rarely do the second-guess thing, but seriously?" inquired Cyborg. "Allowing Belden on this mission? You're not really considering letting that convict join, are you?" Cyborg asked Nightwing as the two sat at the helm of their new state-of-the-art Harrier II. They were en route to S.T.A.R. Labs in San Francisco where they'd rendezvous with the Flash and Frances Kane, as well as former Titan Karen Duncan. Evidently, according to Karen, technicians from Slade Wilson's private stock had already arrived earlier with their own equipment and what looked like a large holding tank. The tank was filled with a murky, almost placenta-like substance; as Karen's best guess it was a makeshift gestation cistern, perhaps the holding cell of Joey Wilson's cloned body. She gave Nightwing all the details he needed to be as fully prepared upon arrival as possible.
"It's a fair call to live by the motto, 'keep your friends close and your enemies closer,'" responded Nightwing with a sarcastic smirk, "You should know that mantra very well by now, Vic."
Cyborg grinned, both a little embarrassed and secretly annoyed that Dick couldn't seem to stop reminding him of what he'd nearly done to the moon, and, subsequently, the Earth, when he was the galactic being called Technis. The way Vic saw it, his humanity was all but gone inside a living techno-world, and it was pretty shitty that Dick couldn't wrap his super-detective mind around that. But Vic was also grateful for being rescued and restored, given his life back by Nightwing and the other Titans he knew as family. So he had learned to bite his tongue when Dick would go all arrogant on his ass. Wasn't that sometimes what families tended to do?
Behind them, Beast Boy, resplendent with a majestic emerald mane adorning his face, kept an almost feral watch on Deathstroke next to whom he sat. On his haunches, his sinewy legs and massive paws firm yet ready to lunge if necessary, lion-Gar yawned, revealing nearly 30 teeth, including large piercing canines, scissor-like molars capable of slicing into flesh, and small incisors which were perfect for scraping meat from bones. "Go ahead, move," he growled, "I double-Dutch dare ya."
The Terminator tittered derisively. "Please, Logan, I'd have you paralyzed faster than you could move either one of those big, strong, fearsome paws. Give it a rest." He sneered at his green-furred adversary and turned to face the front of the cabin. Lion-Gar decided to take the callous, vainglorious mercenary up on his suggestion and lay down; he nuzzled his enormous, mane covered head against Deathstroke's abdomen and purred.
At the rear of the vessel, in a charmingly ornamented lounge area, the ladies and Michael Belden sat on swivel chairs which formed a semi-circle; Troia seemed intrigued by the Harlequin's insistence that she was a member of the Titans, while Kole and Starfire caught each other up to speed on their respective tales of survival, and the Disruptor, mask removed, sat quietly, fidgeting about anxiously. His awkwardness was palpable, but he did his best to sit, listen and observe. His mind was racing like the mind of a second grader with ADHD, and between his own myriad thoughts, he heard words like "fabulous" and "amazing," and other exclamations that conveyed a surprised disbelief from their storytellers. He could tell the girls were overjoyed to be sitting together after what must have been years, but he couldn't shake the feeling of contempt he seemed to be getting from Troia. Every now and then she'd shoot a visual dagger at him during mid-sentence, exposing her distrust.
The Harlequin was chewing a mouthful of gum, sporadically cracking bubbles, between random bouts of the giggles. Her eyes danced around from Starfire to Kole to Troia, observing facial expressions and occasionally mimicking them. It began irritating Starfire who, though enrapt in dialogue with Kole, couldn't seem to ignore the mocking attitude.
"Donna," whispered Starfire, "can't you make her stop? She's freaking me out."
Troia switched focus from Belden to the Harlequin and asked, "What is so funny?"
At this, the Harlequin howled, an unnerving, fingernails-on-chalkboard laugh. She managed, "It's a natural high, by the by. Why ask why? Pie in the sky." She trailed off and howled again. Whooo Hoo Hoo…
Troia grabbed the Harlequin's upper arm with an particularly firm grip, stopping the laughing girl's hysteria cold, and said, "Stop laughing or we'll cart you right back to Arkham once this mission's over." The Harlequin poised a comical face of clown-like sadness and froze, stiff and unblinking.
Michael Belden cautiously broke his silence and asked, "She's a weird one, huh?"
In perfect unison, like synchronized swimmers, the 3 girl Titans looked at him as Starfire said, "No one said you could talk."
Under his breath, Belden mumbled, "Jeez," as he promptly averted his eyes.
The rest of the trip was long and nearly unbearable for Belden; between Troia's glares, Starfire and Kole's chatter, and that freaky clown-girl's frozen-faced immobility, he couldn't wait to get off this plane. At the controls, Vic Stone sat quietly with mixed emotions, and to his right sat Nightwing, masked pseudonym of Blüdhaven cop Dick Grayson, visibly emotionless. A few feet back sat Slade Wilson wearing an eye patch and a wily grin, his mind focused on the restoration of his son. At his side, lion-Gar snoozed.