Feeling my way through the darkness
Guided by a beating heart
I can't tell where this journey will end
But I know where to start.
They say I am too young to understand
That I'm caught up in a dream
Life will pass me by if I don't open up my eyes
Well, that's fine by me.
-from "Wake me Up" by Avicii
The crunch of buttered popcorn. The purposeful turn of the Ferris wheel. Snow cones. Balloons. Between the booths and events and crowds and children laughing and feet hurrying, the Flash drank it all in. Even the stickiness of crushed caramel apple underfoot was a delight. Darting in and out between the masses, he checked dozens of leaguers off the clip-board listed jobs as he passed by: Vigilante and Shining Knight leading horses in a circular riding arena, Sir Justin's pegasus the crowd favorite. Check. Oberon introducing Etrigan onstage at the magic show. Check. Captain Marvel supervising the bouncy house. Check. Mary Marvel skipping by, passing out balloons. (He had to remind himself the babe was only sixteen.)
In the eastern corner by the concession stands, tables and chairs were set up to rest from the festivities and enjoy the snacks. Red Tornado whirled at twister speed, forming cotton candy clouds in in hand and twisting pretzels in the other. "How's it going, Ralph?"
Elongated Man looked exasperated, juggling ten plates of funnel cakes on outstretched hands. "Kinda like when I worked at McDonald's as a teenager. Multiplied by fifty. Hold your horses anklebiters, there are more in the fryer!"
"Honey, don't raise your voice to such sweet angels." Sue squirted the cherry flavoring on a snow cone, handing it to a toddler with pig tails. "Aren't they precious?" She had this dreamy expression on her face, one her husband knew was dangerous. He grimaced. "In a Gollum kind of way."
Flash checked the list, passing the show at the Atlantis-world water arena. Aquaman stood on the backs of two dolphins, one under each foot, while sting rays jumped in arcs overhead, accompanied by what could only be a baby kraken. On the other side of the amphitheater, Ice had transformed the area into a winter wonderland. Two feet of snow sprinkled the ground, kids playing in snowball fight forts and snowman mounds.
"Love what you've done with the place."
Ice motioned to the freeze ray in her hands, re-forming the melting igloo palace with finesse. "This sure helped a lot. Though I don't know where you found one on such short notice."
"Hey, Gotham's not the only city with a freeze-ray wielding whacko." The Flash paused in a double-take. "Wow, can't believe that's actually something to brag about."
The Scandinavian girl paused her work. "Beatriz told me this was your idea."
"I had some time to brainstorm on the way to Mexico." The boy flexed the muscles on one arm. "What else did she say about me?"
"Mostly that you're annoying," she replied with a straight face.
"Oh."
She added with a genuine smile, "But I've got to hand it to you-I've never seen so many smiling people in one place. Thank you."
A girl as sweet as Ice was refreshing. So, naturally, the window of opportunity should be seized. "N—ice of you to say. We should chill more often."
Ice shuddered at the wordplay. "Wally, please don't turn my heartfelt compliment into a flirtatious encounter."
"You give Guy Gardner a date, but not me? That's cold." He sped out of the area before she could pull the freeze ray's trigger.
Honestly. Leaguer chicks had no sense of humor.
The man struggled for air. Inside the bolted glass box, the audience could him gasping for breath under the chains and padlocks. The timer was ticking. Five more seconds. There was no possible way he'd make it.
His assistant took the glowing megarod in her hand, shattering the glass box with the weapon. Water gushed over the stage, chains clanking to the ground. The young faces in the audience gasped, perplexed. Where was he?
"Barda, there you are!"
The audience faced the voice behind them. Floating on metal discs, the man's outlandish red, yellow and green outfit seemed all the more jubilant and mysterious. He joined hands with Barda, bowing for the delighted hoots of children whispering "How'd he do it?" and "So awesome!"
Oberon grabbed the microphone with practiced ease. "Let's have another round of applause for the daring Houdini of our age, Mr. Miracle! And for his lovely assistant Barda!"
"Do I have to bow in this embarrassing societal parade?" the taller woman whispered to her husband.
"It's called a 'curtain call' honey. But no, you don't have to."
The couple left the stage, making way for the smiling Zatanna. She shook her head at the spilled water and broken case in mock anger.
"Oh dear, look at the mess he made. What should I do?"
The girl waited while the audience held their breath. She shouted, "!sdrib ytterp otni ssem siht nruT"
Colorful macaws exploded out of the stage, flying over the audience cheering with wonder.
"Magic is so cool," said the girl to herself.
Blue Beetle stood holding looking into the distance, shaking his head. "Tonight's a travesty, Booster."
His best friend floated above the goats, trying to keep out of the mud and unspeakable manure underfoot. "Which part?"
"Check out all these leaguer babes gathered in one spot, and here we are on Poop Patrol."
"I believe the proper term is 'Cleanup Crew.' "
"However you sugarcoat it, we always get the crappy jobs."
"Literally," his buddy affirmed.
"Someday man, the world will be our oyster."
Booster was unsure of what the idiom meant, though the saying had a certain ring to it. He made a mental note to look it up in Skeets' twenty-first century slang archive.
The green-skinned Manhunter approached in his unreadable demeanor, positioning himself in front of the sign that read "Petting Zoo."
"Looky looky, our favorite Martian." Beetle snickered to himself. "And I thought we handsome devils looked out of place here."
J-onn kept his thoughts to himself. Martians lived long lives, and he was patient. Still. With his Beetle/Booster babysitting duties, he could tell that-even for him-it would be a long night.
Roy Harper yawned. It was going to be a long night.
Not that his duties were strenuous. All he had to do was hand out darts, awarding prizes based on where the projectiles landed on the target. He was even having fun watching the kids take way too long to aim, only for the miniature arrows to land in the grass. No, right when he was starting to enjoy the night, something like this would happen:
Random Kid: Hey mister, can I have your autograph?
Roy: Sure.
(Kid inspects the signature with something like confusion.)
Random Kid: Red Arrow...who's that?
Roy: Uh. Me.
Random Kid: Oh. (Pause.) Is the other arrow guy here? The green one?
Roy: (Exasperated sigh.) Green Arrow's coming later.
And so it went for a few hours. Figures. You grow up the darling sidekick, but once you strike out on your own, the public forgets you exist. Kinda like being a Disney star. Not that he'd admit to watching the Disney channel, though more than once Wally had caught him watching Even Stevens on Netflix.
A familiar green hat made its way through the crowd.
"You're late, your blondness."
The mustachioed man took his place in front of the booth. "Um. I'm choosing to be flattered by that interesting greeting."
A gaggle of teenagers stopped in front of the archers, a curly-headed brunette with braces coughing, as if he had something to say.
"Excuse me, could I get an autograph?"
"Knock yourself out. Green Arrow is now here."
The brace-faced teen looked confused. "No, I mean you."
Roy signed the proffered notebook, trying not to smile. "There you go."
"Cool. Thanks, Hawkeye."
The group of teenagers sauntered off around the corner, whispering "...A lot taller than Jeremy Renner" and "He's cute for a ginger."
His mentor and friend tried to get his former sidekick to cool off, restraining his arms so he wouldn't draw an arrow.
"Seriously? The name's Red Arrow, not the guy in The Avengers. He's not even real!"
"The kid made a mistake."
Roy continued ranting. "And what kind of guy wears purple? Totally unbelievable. Almost as bad as your hat."
Roy was still steaming, but was attempting to appear calm for the hordes of children passing by.
Oliver looked his friend in the eye. "Roy, I can handle the darts booth by myself. Go take the rest of the night off."
"No way I'm bailing. Flash would never let me here the end of it."
"First of all, you're now a liability. Second of all, I'll handle that knucklehead. Besides, he owes me one."
Roy didn't want to agree, but he had to admit the sight of teenagers wearing Avengers T-shirts made him cave.
"Fine."
Oliver watched his protégée disappear among the crowds. He wrinkled his nose. And what's wrong with the hat? he mused to himself.
Free photos with the Super Friends! (Hero will vary, depending on availability.) So read the sign describing the photo booth. People of all ages waited in line, reaching on tiptoe to catch a glimpse of two of the founding members of the Justice League. Those from Metropolis saw the cape or blur faster than a speeding bullet on nearly a daily basis. Still. In their presence, the people held something like reverence.
A timid teenage girl with purple glasses came forward, hiding behind a middle-aged man who had to be her father.
"Excuse me, Mr. Superman? My daughter was wondering if she could get a picture with you and Ms. Wonder Woman. She has a poster of you two in her room and well, you're her heroes."
"Of course." Superman smiled at the little girl, causing her to blush. She stood between the heroes with a smile of pure joy, posing with the poster.
"Say Cheese!"
Superman wondered why so many camera flashes were going off. He was used to fanfare, but this was different. So many people were downright giggling or rapidly texting or both. He heard Jimmy Olsen's camera shutter going off a mile a minute.
"Can't believe Kent is missing this." Lois scribbled on a notepad, smirking.
"Said he had a date he couldn't miss."
"With who? Wonder Woman?"
"If Cat Grant was into him, anything is possible."
"She wasn't that pretty. Anyway, five bucks says someone puts this on Tumblr."
Oh no. He was almost afraid to look down. Clutched in the hands of the beaming teenager was a poster of a comic book panel. It was him all right, and the Amazon princess-kissing in the light of the moon.
"Thanks Mr. Superman," the girl chirped, skipping away.
"Strange," noted Diana in her nonchalant way. "Why would a child have that on display?"
Superman didn't answer. He was too busy blushing.
Green Arrow dodged yet another dart. Pretty skilled, for not even having to look up from his phone.
"Well done, sport."
"But I didn't even hit the target."
"Meh. Good enough for government work." The boy skipped away with a giant stuffed elephant, leaving Oliver Queen to his reverie. Nope. Out of 15 attempted calls and 23 and a half texts, Dinah still wasn't answering him back. That woman. Stubborn. Headstrong. And absolutely invading his every thought. The sparkle of challenge in her eyes. The smell of her perfume.
Wait. He could smell it. Wafting from around the corner, behind the bouncy house and Captain Marvel's loud guffawing. There, at the kissing booth, sat the voluptuous Black Canary. And a long line of men waiting to kiss her.
The fearless Green Arrow stopped in his tracks, text number 24 completely forgotten.
"...The Justice League. Brave. Bold. Blonde. Brunette. Human. Alien. All have come together in the name of children everywhere. This many members in one area can be quite overwhelming indeed, though it infuses its attendants with power. Power to take action as they have done, to reach out and not only help our neighbor, but relive those days when we were all young, teachable, full of fun, and waiting to be a force for good. Who knows-we may be in the presence of the future of the Justice League itself. This is Lin-"
Linda noticed Marla's frantic signal at the last second. She smiled, quick to recover, though lacking in the former fiery zeal.
"-Indeed, generous donations from Oliver Queen, Maxwell Lord and Bruce Wayne have made this night the unforgettable event every man, woman, and child can enjoy. Tickets are still available at the front gate. Just look for the guy in green. Guy Gardner, that is." She chuckled to herself. "Anyway, this is Linda Park, Channel Four."
She put down the microphone, sitting at the table labeled "Face-Painting." The table was deserted except for a man in a dark trench coat, listening to music from a Bluetooth and muttering every so often. She sat at the far end of the table, helping Marla the camerawoman with the mic cord.
"Whew. Thanks for the reminder. Oliver Queen, Bruce Wayne. These sponsors are so needy. And didn't show up, to boot. So much for their in-depth interviews."
Marla kept her comments to herself. Reporters are so needy.
Linda's brow furrowed, planning her next move. Captain Atom looked bored stationed at the Ferris wheel, systematically pulling the lever. Maybe an interview about the International branch of the League. She checked her watch, calculating the time until sundown. Maybe. . .
"Nice watch."
Linda played it cool, pretending she wasn't altogether surprised at the sudden appearance of the Flash over her shoulder.
"Thank you."
"Never seen one like it."
She shrugged. "I know a guy."
"As long as it's not Guy Gardner," he quipped. Linda had to bite her tongue not to laugh. She had to be professional.
"If it's not too much trouble Mr. Flash, could I get an interview? I meant to catch you earlier, but it seems you've been more than a little busy."
"Of course. For you, I could always make time." Hmmm, Linda thought. Is it just me, or is he making his voice deeper?
"For you, I'm always available." Before Linda could face-palm herself for being so cheesy, a beep sounded. And sounded again.
"Um, is that your phone?"
"The League's standard-issue comlink. No biggie."
"Sounds official."
The beeps became louder.
"So. Um, aren't you going to answer it?"
"They don't need me."
The beeps became faster.
Linda looked incredulous. Flash waved the clipboard dismissively. "Not important. Now, about the interview."
"KID!" Flash winced at the comlink transmission loud enough for even Linda to hear. "Get your red butt to the front gate ASAP."
"But GL-"
"NOW!"
The comlink clicked off.
"Heheh. Kinda been busy like this all day. Uh, raincheck? Like, in an hour?"
Linda thought a moment. "The Channel Four crew and I head back to Keystone at 8:30. So. . .let's meet here at 7:00 pm sharp."
Flash winked. "I'm never late." With that he was gone.
Bruce stared at the blackened hearth a good minute as he crept out of fiery slumber. He assessed his surroundings, just to affirm he wasn't dreaming. He was in Wayne Manor's library (the second-frequented room next to the Batcave) in his father's armchair. He was sitting half-dressed, his bare torso and right arm carefully wrapped in bandages. An antique television was tuned into Channel Four's live news report.
Alfred kneeled, stoking the hearth fire back to life. The old butler looked up. "Ah, welcome back to the land of the living, sir."
"I'm not that lucky," he winced, trying not to rotate his shoulder. He was too slow to catch the book that slipped to the floor. He inspected the pages, swearing. Often he would read verses of his father's favorite poets, but this was a Blake second edition, complete with crumbling binding and all.
"How long have I been out?" asked Bruce.
"Several hours since the meeting with Commissioner Gordon. Is the case closed?"
Bruce was reading the volume in hi hands. Songs of Innocence and of Experience read half-shadowed in the room's faint glow. A bookmarked page opened:
Tyger Tyger, burning bright,
In the forests of the night. . .
There was nothing but night and embers. From the police station rooftop, Commissioner Gordon could see the hoses finish off the hissing splinters of what used to be Gotham's premium opera house. The sight was becoming all-too familiar.
A shadow appeared behind the batsignal. "You rang?" Came the gravelly voice of the Batman.
"And they say you don't have a sense of humor."
"That would be the morphine speaking."
"Rough night, I see. Anything to do with Park Row Theater?"
"Everything to do with it."
On closer inspection, the commissioner noticed the cloaked figure favoring his left leg, the right arm hanging as if useless. "Then I have some good news."
The unreadable figure looked sideways in thought. "You got him?"
"The recent arsonist, yeah. Caught in the act. Lieutenant Estrada happened to be at the opera house with his wife when the arsonist lit up the second act. Shot him in the shoulder when he tried to run."
"Interesting."
"Nothing disappears for long. Not even a firefly."
Firefly, Batman thought to himself. So you have a name.
"I want to see him."
"And all along I thought opera had nothing to offer. Joke's on me."
Williams and Estrada leaned against the interrogation room's window, the former stirring a cup of coffee. He almost dropped the cup as he saw Commissioner Gordon's guest.
"Holy. . ."
"Is that. . ?"
"Yeah, yeah, he's sure not the Easter bunny." The commissioner unlocked the room door, directing his intimidating guest to wait there.
The dark figure nodded. Williams drank his coffee, trying not to stare too hard at the figure beside him.
"Expresso?"
Batman didn't espond. Estrada nudged his buddy. "Maybe he's more of a decaf kind of guy."
Through the one-sided glass window, Commissioner Gordon sat down at the cold, unforgiving table. "Mr. McFly, is it?"
The man at the other end of the table didn't respond. He was stripped of the insect-like suit now laying across the chair next to his interrogator. He didn't seem to mind the blood-tinged bandage across his shoulder, or the orange jumpsuit. Didn't seem to car about anything.
"The manager says you came to him five times in the last six months looking for a job. The last time, you called him a 'prejudiced Nazi unworthy of the profession.' "
Mark didn't respond. He stared up at the ceiling.
The commissioner continued. "I mean, I don't like opera as much as the next guy, but to burn the building? Seems a little drastic. In fact, a lot of theaters have gone up in smokes tied to your past job history. Park Row had a turn of events today."
Mark's eyes rested on the soot-covered suit. "Where'd you get the suit?"
"You were wearing it at the opera house."
"That's where I was. Should have known."
"Mark, you're going to serve some real jail time unless I get some answers."
The prisoner started humming. Batman searched his memory, recognizing the tune from a William Blake poem set to music.
Tyger, Tyger burning bright
In the forests of the night. . .
"Why did you do it? Revenge? Money?"
What immortal hand or eye,
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
The humming stopped. "It doesn't matter."
In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
"What?"
Mark laughed. "Anything."
"Why not?"
His eyes looked empty, like and old burned-out forest. "I couldn't save him." Mark repeated that over and over, a tear escaping his crazed eye.
When the stars threw down their spears
And water'd heaven with their tears:
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the Lamb make thee?
"What?"
"I asked, is the case closed? Did you catch him?"
Bruce closed the book. "Yes."
Still. Alfred knew that look in his eyes. It meant something wasn't quite right. "Then you won't be disappearing for weeks on end anymore? The tracking devices are highly effective babysitting tools." That was his way of implying "I'm not sorry for tracking you, as you so rudely walked out on me with no explanation twice in one day."
"At least not anytime soon." Meaning "I'm sorry but not going to admit it, so better take this as the closest you'll get to an apology."
"Sir, are you sure you would not prefer to rest your injuries in a hospital?"
"And go through the paperwork? Hell no."
The grandfather clock chimed. So it was Saturday, late afternoon. It was weird, being around his own house on the weekend. It was so. . .normal. What exactly did normal people do on weekends? Usually he'd be traipsing the space-time continuum on some League mission or letting Clark win at chess or watching the Earth spin round in silence conversing with Diana.
All that seemed so long ago.
Alfred was accustomed to his charge appearing and reappearing so silently, he wasn't too surprised to see him by the fireplace all of a sudden with no indication. He was, however, surprised to see Bruce perusing the near-forgotten picture frames above the mantel: The Waynes on their wedding day; Alfred dressed up as Santa Claus with young Bruce; Master Richard's graduation at Gotham Academy, Barbara and Bruce on either side.
"Strange, how we keep our most precious memories above the fire." Bruce was staring at the last frame in particular. A photo of he and Jason watching television next to a huge bowl of popcorn. "One false move and they're lost in the flames forever."
The old butler wiped his soot-covered hands on a handkerchief. "I once thought that very same thing."
"You did."
"Indeed. I do ponder the questions of the soul between meals."
"And?"
"The hearth keeps them warm. So there are roses in December."
He was usually good at riddles, but that one had Bruce stumped. He attempted several responses in his head, concluding nothing was his only comment. The television took this opportunity to fill in the silence.
". . .to reach out and not only help our neighbor, but relive those days when we were all young, teachable, full of fun, and waiting to be a force for good. Who knows-we may be in the presence of the future of the Justice League itself. . ."
Alfred continued, a purposeful inflection to his graying voice. "I hear Wayne Enterprises donated a substantial amount to the carnival. How nice for the company chairman to actually attend the event he sponsors."
Bruce scoffed. "Since when does any billionaire vigilante do that?"
"There's a first for everything, sir."
The green lantern known as John Stewart was not a patient man. Years of former service in the Marine Corps conditioned him to expect prompt action and a no-nonsense approach to any situation. While Flash was indeed prompt, he arrived at the front gate grinning like a goofball, chewing cotton candy.
"Man, is today great or what?"
"You seem happy."
"Not all of us need Joker-brand laughing gas to crack a smile."
"It's about a girl, huh."
Flash had a blob of pink candy smudged on his mouth, which made it harder for Lantern to take him seriously. "Not just any girl-the Girl of my Dreams. Or Woman, actually, but I guess girl is catchier-"
"Anyway, about reality, Guy called about a security breach. You're needed for identification."
John led his friend past the crowd waiting to enter, past the front archway that read Welcome Super Buddies! in glittering letters. Guy Gardner stood inspecting the incoming old couple coming through the entrance with arms folded, green leather jacket collar pulled up.
A little way off from the entrance way was what looked like a green energy jail cell construct. Inside stood a Central City police officer chatting with a handcuffed young man. His neon-colored hair stuck out in all directions.
"Guy wouldn't let him through the gate, but the kid says you invited him. I told him there's no way-"
"James! You're late." Flash greeted the bizarre prisoner with something like camaraderie.
John watched as the prisoner maneuvered his handcuffs to fist-bump Flash with something like friendship. "Sorry Flashy, you know the fuzz. Driving skills like little old ladies."
Officer Lorne chuckled, his white bushy mustache curling in a good-natured way. "Hey, I gave the old lady in the Volkswagen a run for her money."
Earth cops.
The officer saw John look at him with contempt, quickly clearing his throat, business-like. "Er, I mean Mr. Jesse had to finish his solitary sentence for starting a food fight."
James snickered. "The warden's such a kill-joy."
Flash looked him in the eye. "James, remember what we talked about?"
The prisoner looked down in shame. "No more food fights, I know."
"You pinky promised."
James stamped his foot in frustration. "It was chocolate pudding day! And Hartley had it coming! Stealing my lima beans, when I tell him twice a day they're my favorite foods."
"Did you apologize? Maybe you hurt his feelings."
John couldn't believe the conversation unfolding before his eyes. Officer Lorne didn't look phased.
"Is this normal?" John asked.
The officer nodded. "Yep."
"Must be a Central City thing."
"I hear it's the friendliest city in the world," the officer offered, with a peppy smile. John made a mental note never to visit Central City again. Too many perfectly nice, pleasant, happy people. Now he could see where Flash got it from.
The speedster held out a pinky. "No more trouble making, James. Promise me."
James looked hopeful. "What about on April Fool's Day?"
"Especially not."
James pouted.
"Come on, we'll play Frisbee during visiting hours tomorrow."
"Now you're talking!" The prisoner maneuvered his handcuffs for a pinky promise.
"All right James, you ready?"
"Been dreaming about it all day in solitary!"
John had about five seconds to process what that meant before reacting with a "Hold up!" causing Flash to crash into a giant green stop sign. "Whoa, where do you think you're taking this guy?"
"Uh, the pie booth," he retorted, pointing to the list. "Says right here. James Jesse, 'Pie-in-the-Face' late afternoon/evening shift. " Flash blinked, confused. "What's the problem?"
"The problem?"
John had to take a deep breath, trying really hard not to yell surrounded by women and children. "Uh, you wanna bring in, free to roam and wreak havoc, a convicted villain? Am I taking crazy pills? Or do you actually think this is okay?!"
"Technically he's a rogue, not a villain. Big difference."
Lantern cocked an incredulous eyebrow. "Really."
James' sing-song voice chimed in. "Villains have no sense of honor. Plus, I hear they actually try to kill their heroes. Where's the fun in that?"
Once again, Lantern was overwhelmed by the feeling that he was taking crazy pills. "Wal-er, Flash-" He struggled to find words to express his frustration. "Give me one good reason not to haul you off to Oa for eternity."
"There are no lost causes." Lantern was surprised at the sincerity in Flash's voice. "Hey, he's just a kid from a crazy home life who made some mistakes, but he wants to be more than that. I had to go through a lotta red tape to get this okay'ed from the mayor and Supey but dat gum it, getting the world to glimpse the good man inside the Trickster is totally worth the trouble."
As an afterthought, he added, "Plus, no one else volunteered to have pies thrown in their faces for hours straight."
Hard to imagine why. Lantern heard James listing off his favorite pie flavors in the background. Still. He shook his head, trying hard not to choke on his next words. "If Superman okay'ed this guy, then. . .I guess it's fine. . ."
"Hurray!" Flash crowed, reaching for a bear hug, which Lantern promptly blocked with a green-tinted force field between them.
"You won't regret it, GL."
Oh, I already do,
he thought to himself.
"All right, who wants banana cream pie?"
John watched the odd trio join the tide of enthusiasm and laughter of the crowds. He heard James' sing-song voice trail off chirping "Ooh, banana cream pie is my forty-seventh favorite food! Lima beans are my favorite. . ."
The little boy looked in the hand-held mirror, inspecting his face.
"Doesn't look like a dinosaur." The rorschach of green and blue blotches splattering half the boy's nose scrunched with displeasure.
The man at the booth admired his work. "It's a stegosaurus in the style of Jackson Pollock."
The boy stared blankly. "Who?"
The man without a face sighed. That is, he had a face, but his features were muddled under the flesh-colored mask cover, leaving no room for inference or recognition to his facial form. The unconventional mask was odd for a regular man, but perfect for an unconventional private investigator. "Jackson Pollock was a visionary," he explained. "You should be honored to be adorned in his banner of a legacy."
"That's weird."
"Fine, go back to the lemmings of subjugated thought. No doubt your young and ignorant mind has yet to grasp that significance."
The boy stared. "Ooh, balloons!" And with that the boy ran off into a gaggle of children around his age all holding neon balloons.
Vic couldn't believe kids these days. He re-adjusted his microscopic Bluetooth, humming to himself. Time to get back to work. The face painting booth had been near-deserted all day. Rarely did a child muster enough courage to come near the questionable man with no face, and when they did, they did not seem to appreciate Pollock and the merits of abstract art. So he was back by himself, how he liked to be, humming (slightly off-pitch) along to the lyrics.
Noona neo muh yeh bbeo
Mee chyeo
Replay Replay Replay
He dipped the paintbrushes into a jar of water, the green and blue pigments diluting into sinking swirls. Almost a dance. A rthythm. A pattern. Always a pattern, a code, a message, a story. All you had to do was pay attention.
"Hello, Helena."
A brief flash of a camera cut through the next chorus. Though his back was turned, the Question knew his ex-girlfriend was standing behind him. She swore. How does he do that? she wondered to herself, stepping out of the shadows.
"Dinah texted, said she saw you. I figured the irony of you at a face painting booth was too good to miss."
He faced the dusky babe with his token enigmatic glance. Helena Burtinelli matched her raven hair with an ensemble of black leather thigh-high boots, black leather pants, a purple leather jacket over a Beatles T-shirt, and a shimmering silver cross necklace. She inspected the miniscule Bluetooth.
"Listening to Shinee, huh. Is that working hard or hardly working."
Question cleared his throat for his matter-of-fact explanation. "Part of my Korean pop music investigation. I theorize North Korea uses the upbeat tempo and catchy chorus of K-Pop as military code."
"Did you ever think people listen to pop music because they like it, and not because it secretes subliminal messages?"
"That's what the government wants you to think," Question commented, placing the paints in an organized line.
Her ex-boyfriend hadn't changed a bit. Helena rolled her eyes is amusement. And stopped. Was she actually smiling? She erased the grin before he noticed.
"It's been a while."
Helena nodded, trying to be nonchalant. "Heard Vic Sage was nominated for the Pulitzer last month. If you uh, see him around, tell him congrats."
"Hardly an achievement. They give those out like pretzels nowadays." Question drummed his fingers on the table. "Nevertheless, when I see his face I'll tell him myself. I'm sure he'll be overjoyed to hear the well-wishes. Especially from you."
Awkward silence. She couldn't believe she'd been so stupid to show herself! Take a picture, laugh, make fun of her ex with Dinah, and leave. But no. Here she was having a conversation with an ex-boyfriend on a Saturday night.
Question interrupted the silence. "And you, Helena? I hear the Huntress joined the JLI."
"Still don't know how I was brain-washed into that one," she muttered. "And don't say it's the result of brain-washing listening to Beatles music, because I'll put an arrow in you," she added. Question couldn't tell if she was joking or not. Best not to assume when your ex-girlfriend has a crossbow.
"Thought the League wasn't your thing. As recall, you said, quote, 'I work best alone.' "
Helena narrowed her eyes at the pointed remark. She placed her hands on her hips. The stance worked intimidating street thugs, maybe it would work here. "Hey, you wanted me to explore other options."
"No, I wanted you to not be closed to other opportunities."
"Same thing."
"On the surface, yet disparate under scrutiny of the minute denotations. . ." He trailed off, silenced by the smoldering glare in Helena's eyes.
"Vic, you left me."
"But we both agreed we'd stay friends."
Helena stopped in her tracks. Slowly, slowly she turned around. "Then I guess we're evenly hypocritical." She turned on her heels, about to make an exit.
"Wait!" Question rose, grabbing Helena by the hand. He'd forgotten how small and delicate they were. He let go, suddenly self-conscious. "I. . .didn't think you'd show up, Helena."
Helena crossed her arms in anger, but didn't make a move to leave. Instead she huffed. "It's a charity event for orphans, right? I'm an orphan. Here I am at the event. So sue me."
"No, what I meant was I. . .rather hoped you would. Now that you're here, I'm completely out of questions."
Question turned away, utterly mortified. Why did he go and say that? She always could tell what expression he was making, even with the mask on. He knew she knew he was blushing.
He felt her hand on his shoulder. "Hey, Fedora face," she whispered. "Let's officially call a truce of reciprocal hypocritical-ness. Friends?"
Question sighed in relief. No, more than that. The political malcontent searched for a suitable mood denotation. Looing in her deep-set dark eyes, was he actually. . .content? "What do you say we take a walk."
"Really? As in here? Around the carnival?" Helena looked incredulous. "But you hate flashing lights, fast food, chaotic merriment, and basically everything a carnival should be."
"Generally I am. But, seeing as the face-painting booth is so darn busy. . ." He motioned to the deserted booth. "There's a deviation to every rule."
Dick Grayson smiled. To many, the circus tent meant freedom from rules. For him, and for many years, it meant home.
A spotlight followed his graceful arc, flying through the air with ease as a robin might soar through a sunny day. A booming voice laughed with a foghorn beneath.
"Bravo! Bravo!" Jack Haly was getting old, but the circus showman still had style, sporting a spangly top hat and twirly mustache. "And now for his final descent without a net, the challenge of Flying Death!"
The crowd gasped. Dick Grayson waved from the top of the trapeze tower, all confidence, jumping down into the air that could not catch him. The spectators oohed and ahhed as he flipped between the poles, teasing the iron fist of gravity. Janet Drake covered her eyes.
"Mom, he's gonna make it. Don't worry," her son Tim assured. He watched Dick fly through the air, landing on a small trampoline next to Mr. Haly. With a final twist, he grabbed the old manager's top hat, placing it on his own head as the crowd cheered a final hurrah. He tossed the hat back to Mr. Haly, booming once again into the foghorn.
"Only a few can pull off the quadruple somersault! A round of applause for tonight's star of Haly's Circus, the Flying Grayson!"
With that the spotlights faded to blackout, signaling the brief intermission. Dick took his place backstage, gulping water from a bottle. The spotlight, the cheering crowd, the rush. Man, how he'd missed this.
Jack Haly peered around the corner. "You did great tonight, kid. Got time for some adoring fans?"
"Didn't know I had any," he quipped. Walking back out in the bigtop arena, Dick was greeted by a video camera.
"Mr. Grayson, I'm Linda Park, Channel Four news. Have time for a brief interview?"
He winked at the pretty Asian woman. "For you, absolutely." The camera focused on his handsome face, outlined by dark chin-length hair and bright eyes.
"I understand you've come out of retirement for tonight's performance. What was so special about tonight?"
"Well, as you know my parents were murdered during a performance more than eight years ago. The Batman helped solve the case and bring closure to my life. This is a way for me to thank him, in a way, for giving all of my family here at Haly's Circus closure. Tonight I fly for you, Mom, Dad, and Jason." Dick's eyes paused for a moment, freezing on the audience, before turning his full attention back on the camera. It was only for a moment, but Linda's reporter eyes didn't miss that look. She followed his gaze, but saw no one standing out by the emptying audience bleacher seats. Just a man pushing a red-haired girl in a wheelchair. "Excuse me, but who's Jason?"
Dick smiled a small, sad smile. "He was family, too."
Linda changed the subject. "Forgive me for being nosy, but how exactly did you get on the roster for tonight? You don't have Batman's cell number, by any chance?"
Dick's eyes twinkled in amusement. "I'm from Gotham, Miss Park. Batman's never too far away."
Linda laughed accordingly, motioning for the camera to turn back to her.
"That's all from Haly's Circus, touring Star City next week. Stay tuned for more at Channel Four." The camera cut. "Thanks again for the interview Mr-" She stopped.
Dick Grayson was nowhere to be seen.
Outside the circus tent, he couldn't believe his eyes. There was Barbara Gordon, sitting in her wheelchair, her red hair ablaze in the evening air. Dick knew she was there, had visited with her before the show. What he couldn't understand was why she was holding a bouquet of red roses, engaged in conversation with-
"Bruce?!" Dick tried to hide the incredulous shock in his voice, to no avail.
Barbara looked up, flashing a bright smile. "Dick! You were so fantastic!"
Bruce seemed unphased by his adopted son's look of absolute surprise. "Best performance yet."
Dick closed his mouth, his lips pulling into a huge, uncontrollable grin. He kneeled down next to the former Batgirl, smelling the flowers.
"Aren't these lovely? Bruce brought them for me."
Dick feigned anger. "Ahem, how come I don't get flowers? I was the one defying death a few minutes ago." He looked at Bruce. Over the years, he'd keyed into the language of subtext all those in the Wayne household spoke. What Dick was really saying was "Why didn't you tell me you were coming?"
"Did you want roses?" Bruce offered a raised eyebrow, meaning, "Why didn't you tell me you were performing?"
"Besides the point," Dick quipped. Translating into, "I didn't think you'd actually come."
"Because, pixie boots, I've earned these red beauties. I am infinitely more adorable. Plus, what would you do with roses?" This was Barbara's way of commenting "Of course he'd come, pixie boots."
Bruce cleared his throat. "I see your hair is long. Guess I. . .I haven't been around much. For either of you. . .with. . ." Bruce trailed off.
Barbara punched Bruce's shoulder. "Well, you're here now."
"It's a start."
"Oh my gosh, just hug already!" Barbara exclaimed, pulling her two closest friends that were more like family into an embrace. "Making the girl in the wheelchair do everything." Which of course translated into, "This is totally like a Full House episode moment, but hey, I'm glad we're all here together, too."
Tim Drake cleared his throat. He stood about four yards away, observing. He was a young teenager, probably 14 or so judging from his Gotham prep school cardigan. He wasn't tall for his age, though his eyes gleamed with intelligence. Dick recognized him from the audience's VIP front row seats. His approaching father and mother, well-mannered from their socialite upbringing, gently scolded their son.
"Now Tim, wait a minute, can't you see Mr. Grayson's busy."
"No worries, kid. Nice shirt." Tim blushed, nodding at the Robin stylized R symbol on his T-shirt under the school sweater.
"Um, thanks."
"Robin's pretty cool." Dick smiled, a little mischievously. "Not as cool as that Nightwing guy, though."
Barbara rolled those gorgeous green eyes of hers, implying "You would, bird-brain."
Bruce offered Jack a handshake. "Long time no see. Been working on that golf swing?" Jack nodded, chatting about stocks and golf and country clubs. Dick and Barbara exchanged glances. Bruce should win an Oscar for the boring billionaire role.
". . .Nice event tonight. Tim's a big fan of the League," Jack winked. "He's had a Batman and Robin poster on his walls since forever."
"Dad. . ."
"Dear, don't embarrass the boy," Janet drawled. Dick recognized Mrs. Drake from some Gotham events. One of the few people at those social circles he actually liked. "Anyway Bruce, can't wait for the annual Wayne Enterprise gala. Should be the event of the season. So hoping you won't get food poisoning again."
"I'm staying as far away from ceviche as I can," Bruce affirmed. Dick remembered that gala, how the man of the hour Mr. Wayne had suddenly contracted food poisoning from the shrimp and had to bid farewell. In actual, he was called away in order to save Wisconsin. But that was hardly common knowledge.
"Pretty cool quadruple somersault. Mr. Haly says it's your trademark move." The former Robin turned to the kid at his side.
Dick shrugged. "No big deal."
Tim looked thoughtful. "I've only ever seen one other person pull it off."
Dick was about to ask who, but was cut off by Mr. Drake checking his watch. "We should be going, the chauffeur's waiting. Did you give Mr. Grayson his gift?"
"What gift?"
"Tim's followed the career of the Flying Graysons religiously," Jack explained. "Used to threaten he'd run away and join the circus."
"Dad."
"Dear."
"What?"
Tim held out an envelope, looking Dick in the eye, unafraid. "Thanks."
"For what?"
"For being my hero."
With that the teenager exited without further ado. His parents followed, waving farewell. Dick was so perplexed, he didn't know what to say to the Drake family retreating into the darkness. He raised an eyebrow at Bruce, who shook his head.
"Never met the kid."
"Nor I. Too young to attend parties."
"Oh my gosh, just open it already!" Barbara tore open the envelope, fueled by sheer curiosity. Dick's eyes widened in disbelief.
"It's. . .How? . ."
The Flying Graysons smiled back in the photo: Mother, father and son, altogether in front of Haly's Circus (Mr. Haly himself looking younger and less bald). Always the detective, Bruce voiced his deduction out loud. "That's the Gotham cathedral steeple in the background. This photo was taken the night of the accident. The boy must have been there the night of. . ."
Dick was at a loss for words. The gift from a perfect strange was truly thoughtful, the one-of-a-kind-moment caught on camera. But it wasn't that that caused his sudden reflection.
"You okay?" mouthed Barbara, looking quietly concerned.
Mr. Haly poked his head out of the circus tent entrance. "The next act begins in five minutes, I suggest you all take you seats."
"I'm fine. Hey, are you guys ready for act two? I battle a deranged clown walking the tightrope."
"You know how we love clowns," Barbara said drily. But she led the way into the circus tent. Dick Grayson flashed his most reassuring smile, leading his mentor and best friend into the bright lights of the bigtop he considered his first, but not only home.
Climbing the trapeze tower, he looked out into the crowd. Bruce with his arm around the radiant Barbara, the girl flashing a thumbs up. Strange, he thought. How one family fell, but in the same night the gained the beginning of another. As the lights came up, he soared, focusing on the flight at hand. Still. He couldn't shake the feeling about that Tim Drake. Like although they parted ways, he'd be seeing him again.
"Next."
Kyle Rayner, for lack of a better word, was utterly and unfortunately bored. The sensation was not new, as the shifts on monitor duty explored boredom's various nuances. Even then, his imagination was allowed to run free. Not like now.
The next person in line, a little old woman looking like one of the ladies in "The Golden Girls" tv show stepped up to the entrance. An emerald laser beam enveloped the old lady as Kyle interfaced with the ring's secruity scan. Sigh. Only one of an infinite number of uses employed by the green lantern corps, and he was reduced to manning the entrance security check. Kyle yawned, motioning the old lady through. Besides way too much blue eyeshadow, the lady was no threat to anyone.
As the ticket stub dropped into a bucket, a green hand adjusted a wristband on the old woman, flashing a green sign reading The Super Friends thank you for your contribution. "Next," he called for about the millionth time.
Man, he'd been having so much fun ten minutes prior. Using the ring to construct an easel (and French-style beret), he'd used his artistic skills to draw caricatures. Then the call from fellow lantern John Stewart: Rayner to the front gate, an urgent replacement. Apparently Guy Gardner took his entrance security responsibility to heart, and strip-searched Central City's mayor's eighty-five year-old grandfather because he "had a suspicious look in his eye."
"I just saved you poozers from a potential terrorist," Guy muttered to Kyle as they switched places. "But no. You and Stewart bought the sweet old man act."
As much as he wanted to argue, Kyle decided using reason against a guy with brain damage and a power ring was not advisable. So he kept his comments to himself and scanned attendee after attendee with diminishing enthusiasm.
"Next."
A man hobbled up to the entrance, leaning on a blocky, slightly crooked walking stick.
"Ya got a problem, mate?"
Kyle blinked. "Um, no sir." If he was staring, he didn't realize it. While the ring scanned the man for any security threats, Kyle tried to place the man's accent. New Zealand? No. Australia, maybe. Before he could decide on a country, a green siren materialized, a screeching siren blaring Unidentified object! Unidentified object! The Australian man swore, covering his ears against the blast of noise. At any other time Kyle would have politely asked the man not to use vulgar language in front of women and children. . .but seeing as he could barely think over the noise, maybe at another time. Kyle pulled the man aside, trying to make his voice heard over the racket.
"Excuse me, sir?"
"WHAT?"
"Sir, could you-
"EH?"
"-step over here a moment-"
"Speak up."
Kyle rolled his eyes in exasperation. He could take his ring off, but that would leave him exposed in non-uniform clothing with no mask. He interfaced with the ring, scanning the man with X-ray, then infrared and several kinds of scans, all coming up with no reports of abnormalities. Yet still the siren blared Unidentified object! like a bad heavy metal lyric. Finally, he had an idea. He willed the ring to emit low-volumed music instead of the warning siren screech. Someone in line wondered out loud "Is that. . .a One Direction song?" Kyle couldn't help it if the song was catchy and was stuck in his head for a week, but thankfully he was out of earshot, looking over the walking stick, seeing the power ring's multiple breakdown scans in his mind's eye: Heavy, solid piece of teak wood, an eagle wing carved on the end. Crooked, yet beautifully stained a mahogany brown. Not hollow, not coated in poison, not dangerous except for the ring's ominous warning literally still ringing in his ears.
Kyle Rayner may have been a few inched taller than the Australian man opposite him, but he felt shorter under the stranger's glare of scrutiny. He looked the young green lantern over. "Kid, what's the hold up?"
"Well, you got me," Kyle answered in bewilderment. "Scan comes up clean except for the warning transmission. Ring's just been charged, and has never malfunctioned. Weird."
"Look kid, I did my time servin' me country, got me a bum leg as a reward. Now would ya gimme back me walking stick? Show some respect to your elders and all that jazz."
"I'm afraid you can't pass, sir. Standard security protocol until I call for back up." As Kyle's finger reached for the comlink, the Australian man puffed out his chest in anger.
"Protocol my arse! You're one a them prejudiced against foreigners, eh? I make a decent living, provide for me and me son, and for what? To get the third degree?"
"No sir, not at all. I'm part-" He was going to say "Mexican" and explain he's dealt with a fair share of racism for being a Hispanic in the up-and-coming comic book industry. . .but giving away that personal info was not smart. Plus, the crowd starting paying attention, shouting "Let him through!" and "Aussies are people, too!"
Was this really happening? No wonder John preferred deep space to Earth.
"Ladies and gentlemen, please. . ." Kyle felt a tug at his knee before he could finish. A little boy gripping a green balloon sniffled, crococile tears running down his freckly face. "Mister, that's my dad. See, daddy had to work late and was gonna meet me here with mommy."
"Sorry junior, seems protocol is gonna make a liar outta me."
"But dad, you promised to take me on the Ferris wheel. That's all I ever wanted."
The boy sniffled. The Australian man sighed in defeat. Maybe the crowd banded together in the voice against injustice. Maybe the little boy's sniffles and freckles touched their post-modern hearts.
Or maybe Zayn's voice put them over the edge in outrage.
For whatever unifying reason, the spectating crowd ahhed in pity, every head turning to comrade lantern for a verdict. The pressure was efficient.
"Well. . .I suppose I could overlook protocol just this once. . ."
A collective whoop washed over the crowd as the triumphant father and son made their way through the front gate. With their exit, the One Direction song faded into peace and quiet.
Not that it lasted long. A whole crowd of people stared the young lantern down.
"Uh. Next?"
Bruce Wayne had to admit: This was by far the dumbest thing he'd ever done.
He was on the way to the Rolls Royce when it happened. After chatting with Barbara and cheering for Dick Grayson in the big top, he couldn't shake the feeling he'd missed something. That the supposed closed case of the Firefly needed further pondering. A detail, a clue, an inflection, something hidden and flickering. In these thoughts, he made his way to the south side exit, on his way to the Batcave's solace.
A familiar voice floated through the crowd.
". . .Can't believe you volunteered for monitor duty." Bruce recognized Clark's earnest inflection. To the right, he could see the S insignia through the crowd.
"Some of us actually enjoy the peace and quiet."
There she was. Dark blue-black hair in cascading curls. Regal posture, strong and sure. Shaking hands with her friend, there stood Wonder Woman, posing for a final photo with some ginger photographer, next to the smiling Superman.
"Yeah, yeah. Don't get too busy playing League of Legends. You're in a league of your own now." Superman chuckled, his friend looking politely puzzled at the idiom. Bruce shook his head at the lameness of the joke. Oh, Clark.
Past the ocean of heads, spaces cleared for the wonderful woman to pass through. She could just as well fly away, but she rather considered walking among the mortals a duty of the night. Plus, it would be more polite. Bruce saw the people in front of him clearing a space. Soon he'd be face-to-face with someone he'd avoided for months. Somehow meeting her like this was terrifying.
The man who'd spent years training as a ninja disappeared among the crowd, feeling like out of all the dumb things, why the heck was he running from away from the very person he should see the most? But, super or not, people aren't always rational. And, brave or not, people aren't always ready to face their fears. Long story short: That's why the menace of Gotham was hiding in an alley.
Certain no Leaguer was around, he emerged from the alley, reorienting himself. He needed the south side exit by the Pie-in-the-Face booth. To his left a deserted table read "Face Painting." A night breeze blew in. Cool, yet not cold.
I'm only going over Jordan,
only going over home
Bruce stopped. A voice singing over the breeze.
I know dark clouds will gather o'er me,
I know my way is rough and steep
There, from the east. Bruce followed the haunting melody.
But golden fields lie just before me,
Where the redeemed their vigils keep
The singing stopped. A sob. Another sob, louder this time. Rounding the corner of a sign reading "Caricatures" he saw her. There off by herself, holding a bedraggled teddy bear, a little girl looked up.
"Hello?"
The girl didn't seem startled. She sniffled, tears glistening in her large green eyes. She couldn't be more than eight years-old. Her red curly hair was tied back in a black bow to match the gray uniform. The wristband indicated Gotham Orphanage.
"Little girl, are you lost?"
The green eyes blinked. Not blankly as to a stranger, but in the kind of silent, genial acknowledgment of a close friend.
"Hello, Mr. Wayne, and how do you do." She very delicately curtsied (which is very hard to do properly holding a teddy bear, but somehow she managed).
Mr. Wayne, genuinely perplexed, could only offer a polite bow in return. Nowhere could he recollect this bewildering being.
"Forgive me, but you don't look familiar."
"I cut my hair last week," she commented, as if this explained it. She continued, "Plus also, I see you all the time. Mother Francis makes us say thank you to your picture in the front hallway under the sign 'Benefactor.' I asked Warren what that means, and he said it's a kind of tv show in England."
"A fair enough deduction," Mr. Wayne noted, kneeling down to eye level of the girl. "May I ask your name and what exactly you were doing here all alone?"
"My name is Phoebe, and Warren said he wanted to win me a new teddy bear and told me to wait there and I got bored and started counting the stars and couldn't see real good with the Ferris wheel in the way and when I got to three-hundred and twenty-two I gived up and Warren was gone." This was quite the mouthful for little Phoebe, and she had to take a deep breath, sniffling. "Maybe. . .you could help me find him? . .it is dark and scary. . ."
Mr. Wayne thought a moment. "Warren, is it?"
"Mmm hmm. He's my brother. He thinks he's smarter than me just because he's good at computers, but sometimes even he is a nuisance. I read that word in a book."
"Well, we better go find your brother, then, before he makes a nuisance of himself."
"Really?"
"Really."
Phoebe reached out for Mr. Wayne's hand, a smile lighting those large green eyes like emerald stars. The child had to take two steps to every one of her newfound friend's stride length. "You know, I like your coat. It's very flowy and detective-y."
"Thank you."
"Hmmm. Do you like Sherlock Holmes?"
"I do."
"You kinda look like the guy."
"Never heard that before."
"Also a vampire, kind of."
"Now that I've heard."
With that the odd pair walked hand-in-hand in search of teddy bear booths and brothers. Ahead the fireflies must have woken up, for they lit the way into the heart of the fairgrounds, winking.
Kara was suddenly surrounded. Not by robots or kryptonite, but a gaggle of giggling girls (which in its own way is equally as daunting). They carried signs reading Supergirl #1! decorated with little anime orange cats with blonde hair.
A short-haired girl approached, bowing. "Hello Supergirlu. We are from the Nisei division of the S-Girl fan club."
Kara understood her Japanese easily. (She read a book on the language once, when she was bored. Kal told her it came in handy for situations like diplomatic meetings, and apparently this was one of them.)
"How wonderful to meet you," she announced, bowing to her new friends. The girls shrieked with delight, bowing in return.
"Your golden hair is even more beautiful in real life!"
"I dyed mine to match. Now we're twins!"
"You are my #1 hero! Take a picture with me first!" the teenager with pigtails exclaimed, eyes welling up with emotion.
The short-haired girl chimed in, "But you're my hero more."
The group of girls seemed ready to fight in order to prove the biggest fan loyalty.
"Whoa there! I'd love a photo with all of you." The Supergirl beckoned for a group photo. All fifteen teenagers crammed together, laughing, bunny ears and peace signs galore.
"I'll e-mail you all soon." The Kryptonian girl bowed in farewell, the Japanese girls bowing in admiration, exchanging fifteen heart-felt Sayonaras and mascara-dipped tears. The encounter was almost five minutes total, but Kara couldn't stop smiling. How nice it was to have friends, even if they were a little fanatic.
"Strike!"
There was that word again. The white blocky things fell down, hit in the exact center by the little black sphere. The children high-fived their parents, the littlest boy interjecting "No fair, Bobby cheated!"
Kara giggled to herself. These human games like bowling were so primitive, yet seemed so delightful.
Surrounded by a group of Marine veterans, Superman took the men's hands one by one, whispering sincere thanks for their service. Kara volunteered for the shift with her cousin, but so far they hadn't had time to share more than five words. But duty calls, right? Kara straightened her posture, smiling magnanimously to each person waiting to share a picture with her, determined to do her best. Kal does not let anyone down, and neither can I.
"Miss Supergirl?"
Kara looked up into the dreamiest eyes she's ever seen. Dark mahogany hair framed an olive-skinned teenage boy looking at her like no one else.
"Hi."
"Hi.
"You probably don't remember me, but you uh, saved my life on that subway accident last month."
"Just doing my duty," she responded, something she thought Superman would say.
"Trapping that mole man in a cage with his own drill weapon? Nice touch of irony."
Kara didn't know if she should be flattered by that, but the fluttering in her stomach was distracting her reason. She wished she could come up with something more clever than "Really?"
"Yeah. You were amazing. I mean, are, you know. Present tense and past tense. . ." The boy blushed.
"Oh."
"Yeah."
"So."
"Right."
The two teenagers from different worlds exchanged smiles. Jimmy Olson had to put his camera down to make sure.
"Lois, is this guy for real?"
"If you're asking if he's really flirting with Supergirl, then yes."
"Maybe I'll go find Wonder Woman, ask her to dinner."
"Olson, do me a favor-don't embarrass yourself." But neither the reporter nor the photographer could look away from the opera unfolding before their-and a crowd full of onlookers'-eyes.
Past the crowd, one pair of Kryptonian blue eyes didn't look too pleased.
"I'm Dylan, by the way," the earth boy said.
"Dylan. . ." Kara repeated to herself. Earth names were so strange.
"I'm Kara."
"Yeah? Well Kara, maybe. . ." Dylan gulped, but had to go through with it now. "Maybe you'd like to get some ice cream later?"
Jimmy gasped. "No freaking way."
The Kryptonian girl smiled. "I'd like that."
"Really?"
"Absolutely."
Lois grimaced. "Young love. So pure and awkward."
Kara stepped closer to Dylan. He was taller than her, so she had to look up into those dreamy eyes. "Did you wait all this time to ask me that?"
Dylan stepped closer. "Of course. Because, well, last time I saw you, you flew away before I had a chance to say thank you."
Kara's face inched closer. "Really?"
Dylan's face inched closer. "So. . .thank you."
With all the joy and unapologetic candor of youth, they kissed.
"You're welcome," Kara whispered, breathless. Earth boys were so different from the ones on Krypton. So unpredictable and demonstrative, and yet poetic and meaningful. . .
A red and blue blur. Suddenly Dylan was staring at a veritable giant with that familiar S insignia.
"No," growled Superman. "You're not."