Okay, here I am, with the next installment! I know last chapter I promised a Batman shot, but it and I are currently . . . experiencing artistic differences. This one sprung from one of my other one-shots (as so many of these do) and my Batman and this one's antecedent will be a little further down the road, in that order.
With that out of the way, here it is!
Honest Pretension
Chapter Three: Making Boxes
"GL, c'mooooon."
"For the last time, no. Never. In fact, we're going to pretend like this never happened. And if you ever speak of it again—"
Wally wasn't listening. "Dude, you owe me! And I don't want to look like a jackass on—"
"You're going to look like a jackass anyways!" Wally stopped, looking surprised and more than mildly hurt. John heaved a sigh, massaging his temples with his index finger and thumb. That was the most infuriating thing about the speedster: his uncanny ability to make John mad as hell, and the next second make him feel like the world's biggest dickhead for it.
"Do it with Shayera!" John jabbed wildly at the Thanagarian, who was lounging on Wally's worn blue couch, attempting not to smirk and failing miserably. There was a bag of Bugle chips on her chest. She was using them to make her fingers into claws, then eating them off.
Crunch, "I don't know how," Crunch
"See, she doesn't know how!" Wally dropped into a stage whisper. "And I see how she uses that mace, dude, and something tells me she'd want to lead."
John was starting to get desperate, and that desperation was tinged with the irritated realization that he was actually arguing about this, and not just walking out. "Aren't you and Linda taking a class?"
"Yeah, but, you know." Wally twirled a finger beside his ear. "I've got that attention . . ."
"Disorder?"
" . . . I prefer the term differently-abled."
Silence pervaded the room, aside from Shayera's continued munching. John let out an exasperated sigh.
"What makes you so sure I know, anyways?"
Wally looked at John like he had just insulted his intelligence. "You're kidding, right?"
"That's it." But by the time he was turned around Wally was in front of the door, waving his arms in big frantic arcs.
"Nonononononono!" Then, "And if you can look me in the eye and tell me you really don't know how to dance with a straight face, you can go. Seriously."
John started to open his mouth, started to tell the speedster exactly that, and stopped. The trouble was he did know how to dance, or waltz, more specifically. His grandmother had taught him when he was something like sixteen for an aunt's wedding, and he'd used it a few times since. Not regularly, but always often enough to keep it from slipping from memory.
John shut his mouth. A grin started blooming across Wally's face and he forced it down with obvious difficulty. Instead his eyes widened, damped.
"It's my wedding, GL."
A few seconds of the watery green-blue pleading stare and Shayera's somehow accusing crunch crunch crunch andJohn was a broken man. He stalked back into the living room, put his arms begrudgingly up in the position.
Wally was positively beaming as he returned to the area. Shayera watched with an impish grin.
"Should I be getting a camera?"
John didn't dignify the question with a response. "First you put your left arm—"
"I have seen Beauty and the Beast, GL." And then they were like, spaciously hugging, and John had never been more uncomfortable in his life. Wally, on the other hand, was grinning like a loon.
"GL."
"What?"
"Your hand is supposed to be on my shoulder."
"What?"
"You're the lady."
"If you know so goddamn much about—" Puppy eyes, and Wally mouthed wedding. John's face screwed in a mixture of irritation and loathing saved for not even the worst of his enemies, and he put his hand on Wally's shoulder.
"Shay!" Wally commanded sharply as if saying 'Maestro,' and she picked up the stereo remote – simultaneously giggling so hard tears leaked from the corners of her eyes – and the room was suddenly filled with classical music.
"Okay, first you move your left foot—" And Wally wasn't as bad as he would have thought – the speedster was nothing if not a magnificent klutz – but after a little while they were floating pretty smoothly across the small room. And ignoring the Thanagarian's continued, uncontrolled laughter (which was pretty disconcerting occurrence in itself) dancing with Wally almost touched something close to tolerable.
And then Wally had to open his mouth.
"You look very pretty tonight, Linda."
"Wally—"
"I like what you've done with your hair."
"—I'm warning you—"
"And I don't care what your friends think. Broad shoulders are sexy."
John could feel a migraine coming on.
"What can I get you?"
"Beer." At the bartender's raised eyebrow, John rolled his eyes. "Put it in a fancy glass or something."
"Right away, sir." A moment later, his foamy beverage was in a champagne glass and he drank slowly, knowing it was on Wally's tab, also knowing how much Wally actually made and how far this thing was setting him back.
There were more heroes at the ceremony and following reception than John would have thought. Intense scrutiny was the only was to identify them, and without the familiarity of primary colored suits, he was sure he had missed more than a few. Mr. Terrific, in a smart black tuxedo with a smile on his usually stoic face, was giving the cerulean-gowned Dr. Light a spin on the floor. Booster Gold and Blue Beetle were getting drunk across the room on free wedding champagne. Ralph and Sue Dibny talked and laughed with Jay and Joan Garrick. An amazingly tall woman (clearly Barda) was accompanied by who could have only been an uncostumed Mr. Miracle. Ollie and Dinah made an appearance, both with black hair and terrible disguises. Huntress and Question -- both blonde -- showed, the latter eyeing his piece of wedding cake with unmasked mistrust. Helena apparently got tired of waiting for him to establish its security and dove at it with her fork, which was met with heated objections. Star Girl was arms-around-the-neck prom swaying with Dove, while her stepfather watched with a half glower. The Titans and Bat-family both came in various camouflages (Dick Grayson had been the best man, after all). Tim and Bart disappeared early on to do some sort of mischief. John expected the overhead sprinklers to go off at any minute.
He could only take half guesses at the others. One was probably The Atom, and the woman he was speaking with may have been Crimson Fox. There was someone that resembled Vigilante, another that looked like it might have been a brunette Fire, but they could have just as easily been from Wally's 'bill paying' job or Linda's half of the guest list. It was impossible to tell with any amount of conviction.
All of the original seven showed, which was a nice surprise – J'onn in an unfamiliar human form with his wife, whom everyone was happy to finally meet. Clark Kent, an old friend of Wally's (since Smallville wasn't too far away from Keystone, it was a plausible story) with a lovely Ms. Lane, who they all pretended to meet for the first time. And then there was Matches Malone, sporting Wally's third cousin (twice removed) on his arm – a lovely floozy whom he called 'princess.'
Who knew Diana would make a good blonde? John watched with some amusement as 'Matches' twirled the Amazon around the dance floor, a small smile on Bruce's face, brooding deferred.
At least for the moment.
Postponement was the thriving emotion of the evening – having all the original seven in the same room as civilians -- along with an unknown number of additional plain clothes superheroes -- was like dangling the string to a loosely wound sweater in front of a kitten. But no one seemed to acknowledge the danger, which was, as the moment, non-existent. There hadn't been any major crisis, no super villain had attacked, and no one had stood up and yelled an earth shattering "AHA!" It was stupid and corny to say, but there was something magical about the night, something serene and innocent and beautiful, and they were caught in the glamour. For the night, superheroing had taken the back burner, and they were celebrating. In their chosen lifestyle, celebrations were few and far between, and this, especially, was one to savor.
John put his empty glass on the counter and it was soundlessly refilled. In the middle of the crowd was Wally and Linda, Wally's bowtie skew after hours of tugging. Color high, eyes bright, smile so wide it split his face in two, he looked happy. He was happy. John was happy for him, and . . . jealous of him?
They always talked about how immature he was, and yet here he was, the first of them to tie the knot. The first to make some sort of actual lasting commitment.
Oh, the irony.
John shook the thought away and smiled, remembering Wally and Linda stepping out onto the floor for the first dance, Linda looking flushing and amazingly beautiful in her sleeveless white dress with the crimson sash, Wally looking as nervous as a kid stepping up to make a speech he hadn't bothered to memorize. He took her stiffly in his arms, smiled anxiously.
It was unwarranted. After a few moments they eased together, and after maybe a minute Wally spun her around, dropped her in a showy dip and kissed her, to which the crowd broke out in applause and more than a few approving yells. Afterwards the speedster dropped John a wink, and all the Lantern could think was Showoff, closely followed by, Way to go, hotshot.
"You make a box." John turned. At first he didn't recognize the speaker. Without wings, she could have been anyone.
"Huh?" Shayera stood before him, breathtaking in the short, clingy crimson bridesmaid dress, her now brunette hair in an artfully disheveled bun, face glowing with the touches of highlight on her eyes and cheekbones and lips. A charm -- one of Dr. Fate's -- hung low and discreet on her neck.
"With your feet." So enraptured by her appearance he almost missed her words. "You make a box."
"Uh, yeah." John set down his drink at the bar, walked towards her. The flaxen strands of hair framed her face just so. She was petite (if in physique only), but in the dress her legs seemed to go on for years. He saw with amusement that someone had given her a pedicure -- her toenails peeked through strapped red heels, clear but glistening.
He took one of her hands in his, put his hand on her waist in a way he hadn't done in what seemed like a millennia, a way that made his insides quiver. She allowed her small hand to be taken and held out, placed an unsure arm on his shoulder.
"Now all you do is--" It took her only a few minutes to get it. She watched his feet with apt intensity and mimicked his actions until their box became loose and elegant in its liberty. They moved from the confines of the bar to the dance floor, and her eyes rose to his.
"You're counting." She said slyly. "I thought you weren't supposed to."
"Some of us aren't that good at multi-tasking." And contrary to Wally's assumption, the Thanagarian allowed herself to be lead in fluid haloes through the other patrons. The music drowned way the sound of heels on wood, the soft overhead lights chased away some of the suffocating darkness between them, and he held her closely.
Everything drifted away from him then, all but the jade depths of her eyes, and he wished he could stay forever.
I know I didn't explain what happened to Vixen (and I feel bad, because I like her and think she and John could work out . . .) so that, dear reader, is up to you. Maybe she and GL broke up. Maybe she's on a mission, and this'll open up a whole new can of worms. Pick a card, any card; it's your lucky day.
Oh, and I did put Mr. Terrific and J'onn in . . so if you're wondering who's watching the Tower . . . T is the third smartest human on the Earth, so it's one of those other two guys. :p
And for those of you not familiar with the Batman TV show (or comics): Matches Malone is one of Bruce Wayne's/Batman's aliases.
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