A/N: Thank you for the reviews! And thank you to my beta, AQ, for being the star she generally is.

Chapter Twelve—Superman's Sadness

A few days later, Sarah stepped off the transporter pads wanting nothing more than a hot shower. She was sweaty, dirty and extremely smelly—why did the criminal she'd been chasing have to go into the sewers? True, it had been particularly satisfying to hand him over to the police, but she had Monitor duty in fifteen minutes, and couldn't go home for a cleanup. She had her quarters onboard; they'd have to do.

She'd barely gotten further than the corridor before a very angry soprano voice screeched her name. Michaela. She sounded like she wanted a fight. Well, that was fine with Sarah. Any place, any time, bitch. This could be the day you finally hang yourself…

Supergirl skidded to a halt in front of her, fists balled. "You think this is funny, Reaper?"

"What, you mean the fact that your roots are showing? Yeah, that's pretty funny," Sarah said. For reasons unknown, despite the fact that both her parents were dark-haired, Michaela had decided that she wanted to be a blonde. It was either her trying to look like the original Supergirl or Reaper herself. Sarah found both possibilities equally pathetic.

"I knew it! I knew all along you were a degenerate psychopath, but would anybody listen to me?" she yelled. "And now I've been proven right!"

"What in Hades' name are you talking about, Michaela?"

"Like you don't know! Are you actually going to stand there and pretend you haven't just tried to kill me?"

Sarah narrowed her eyes in incredulity. "I haven't been on the Watchtower in the last twelve hours, how am I supposed to have–"

"You know exactly how! Putting Kryptonite in my bed! Are you really so–"

Sarah burst out laughing. Someone had put Kryptonite in the hillbilly's bed? That was the funniest thing she'd heard in ages. Michaela apparently didn't find it as funny, and punched Sarah. When she extracted herself from the wall, busted lip and all, Sarah wasn't laughing either. When Supergirl charged again, going for a roundhouse kick this time, Sarah used the other girl's superior strength against her, dodging and then grabbing her ankle. Michaela's body slammed into the wall, and she crumpled to the floor.

"Believe me," Sarah growled down at her, "if it had been me, I wouldn't have tried to kill you, I'd have succeeded."

Michaela got up, took a step toward Reaper. Suddenly another figure flew between the two, grabbing Michaela's fist. "Michaela, don't," Nick groaned. "It's not going to help!"

"She tried to kill me, Nick!" Michaela shrieked. "There's no one else who would–"

"I'll deal with her," Nick promised.

Sarah rolled her eyes and walked away, forcing herself not to limp. Damn bitch had cracked ribs too. She made it to the med-bay and offered Uncle J'onn a pained smile before reaching for two ice packs—one for her face and the other for her ribs. Fucking cow, she thought venomously. It would be at least a week before she could go patrolling again now.

"Reaper?"

She looked up to see Rex moving slowly over to her, his expression creased in concern. "Hey. You being discharged?"

"Uh, yeah, can't go on missions for a while but Uncle J'onn gave me that all-clear. What the hell happened to you?"

"Michaela," Sarah said grimly.

"Seriously? Why?"

"She thinks I'm trying to kill her."

"What?"

The doors opened again, and Nick came through, face like thunder.

"Was it worth it, Sarah?" he asked furiously.

"Worth getting my lip split open and my ribs cracked?" she snapped. "Not really, considering it was for something I haven't actually done!"

"Oh really? You know what, Michaela's right, I can't believe you'd be that petty to do it, let alone lie to me!"

"Nicky, I don't–"

He opened a pouch on his belt and slammed a piece of luminous green rock next to her. "What would you call that, Sarah?" he spat.

She picked it up, looked at it for a second, then burst out laughing. It hurt her ribs, but it was worth it. "Oh Hera that's funny!"

"You're laughing?" Nick looked totally nonplussed at how he could have gotten his sister so wrong.

"Yeah, Nicky, I'm laughing," she told him, wiping a few tears from her eyes. "And now I'm going to shower." She got up, hobbled to the door. "And by the way—if it had been me, I would have used real Kryptonite."

Sarah started to go through the door, but stopped and turned to look back. "Also, a piece of advice: tell your girlfriend to ask her father what happened the first time he and our father worked together. Remind her that Daddy threw him across the room without so much as breaking a sweat. Remind her that Daddy trained me well." She wiped all traces of her earlier amusement away. "And tell her that if she comes at me again like she did today, I will not hesitate to lay her out on the deck."

"Reaper–" Nick started.

"No," she snapped. She'd started, now she was going to finish what she wanted to say. "Look at that damned rock, P. It's obviously a fake, and yet the bimbo couldn't even tell that much. Did she feel anything? I doubt it—most likely she saw green and decided immediately to blame me." She upped her glare a few notches. "Actually, that doesn't surprise me. I've come to expect stupid snap decisions like that from her. What pisses me off, Prometheus, is that you actually thought I'd do it."

Sarah didn't break her stare, and was only mildly satisfied that Nicky had the grace to look ashamed of himself. After a moment, she continued. "Now, I'm getting a shower, and then I have Monitor duty for the next five hours. Be sure to come home tonight. Thanks to your girlfriend, I won't be able to patrol Gotham any time soon. That leaves it to you to go out with Batman. Rex, I'll see you later."

She didn't wait for a response and stormed out of the med-bay. Her ribs were still aching, which meant Monitor duty was going to be hell.

Stupid Kryptonian brat, she thought venomously as she headed for the locker room and the showers.

Fifteen minutes later, Sarah entered the Monitor womb. Superboy was sitting at the terminal, and turned when he heard her enter. "You're late," he said, eyebrow raised. "Something apocalyptic happen? You're never late."

Sarah snorted. "Someone slipped fake Kryptonite into a certain bottle blonde's bed. She and Prometheus were unable to spot that it was fake and decided that I'd tried to murder her."

Jonathan's eyebrows went up. "Really? How can Michaela not know that it was fake? She'd have had to have noticed that it was real pretty quick."

She snorted. "Do you really want me to answer that?"

"Guess you don't really have to," he agreed, rather morosely.

Normally Sarah would sympathise, she really would, but at the moment she didn't want to get into the 'whose family has more issues' game. Not that she wouldn't win, but still. "I'll take over now," she said rather curtly. "Go home, Kent."

He nodded, then yawned loudly. "Night, Reaper."

As he passed, he squeezed her shoulder gently, and Sarah felt her anger softening a little. It wasn't his fault he was related to that air-headed imbecile. "Night, Jonny-boy."

He mock-scowled at her. "Don't call me that."

With that, he left the Monitor room, leaving Sarah to do her shift in peace. She leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes for ten seconds, rubbing her temple with one hand and her still-aching ribs with the other. A slight breeze made a strand of hair move at the side of her face.

"You two owe me big-time, you know," she commented without opening her eyes.

There was no reply, but when she looked, it was to see Iris and Isabelle standing in front of her with equally apologetic expressions. Iris nervously held out an iced mocha. Sarah took it without a word and looked at them, waiting.

Isabelle cracked first. "We're sorry, Reaper. It was just supposed to be funny. A practical joke."

"We had no idea Supergirl would react like that," Iris explained.

"And it totally wasn't fair of her to blame you."

"Prometheus knows it was us now. We told him."

"So does Michaela," Isabelle nodded.

"We didn't mean for you to get hurt."

"Or hurt so badly, you know you really look like hell, even with the mask–"

Sarah decided they'd babbled enough. "Word to the wise, girls, don't play jokes on people too stupid to understand them."

Both redheads nodded. "Gotcha," they said in unison.

Iris swallowed nervously. "So...are we good?"

"Depends. Are you doing anything for the next five hours?"

The sisters exchanged puzzled looks. "...no."

"Well now you are," she said cheerfully, getting up. "You're taking my shift."

"What? But, Reaper–"

Sarah stopped, and then glared. "Split lip, huge headache and cracked ribs. All because of you two. Are you sure you won't volunteer to take my Monitor duty?"

They continued to look a little hesitant. Sarah sweetened her voice until it was dripping syrup. "I'm sure I can always think of another way you could make it up to me..."

Her tone made it clear that whatever the alternative was, it would not be anywhere near as pleasant or trouble-free as Monitor duty. And the twins were by no means stupid. They both nodded. Vigorously. "No problem!"

"Good," she said cheerily, standing up from the chair. She suppressed a wince as another pain shot through her ribcage. "You can either do it together, or split the shift in half. Either way works."

Sarah walked over to the transporter. "The Cave, if you please," she ordered. Iris reached the controls first and tapped a few of them. Seconds later, Sarah was home.

The Cave wasn't empty, she quickly discovered. Both her father and brother were at the computer. They faced her as she approached.

Sarah took her mask off and gave Nick a baleful glare. "Come to make sure I didn't pilfer the family stash of Kryptonite?" she asked scathingly.

He winced. "I deserved that," he admitted.

"You're damn right! Even if I had done it, why the hell would you make such a big deal out of it?"

Nick looked away sheepishly. "Look, Sarah, I'm sorry. I just..." he trailed off, and then shrugged helplessly before repeating, "I'm sorry."

She continued to glare at him for another moment, and then nodded. "Apology accepted." Sarah turned to her father, who had remained silent during the exchange. "I take it Nicky explained what happened?"

"Yes," her father replied. "And you were correct. Nick will be accompanying Terry on patrol."

"I trust this adds substance to my earlier argument about the Kryptonian witch?" Sarah demanded. "She's a loose cannon, and turns on her own allies at the drop of a hat with no evidence to back up her claims. Jesus, if it had been almost anyone else, she might very well have killed them."

"Isn't that a little har–"

A vicious snarl in Nicky's direction shut him up quickly. He held up his hands in surrender.

"It was a prank done by the Flash twins," Sarah continued, turning back to her father. "A harmless prank that should have done nothing more than make her jump. Instead, she immediately assumes that I'm someone who will resort to premeditated murder and comes after me." She straightened. "You're still on the Founders' Council, Daddy," she said. "Tell them that if something isn't done, I'll resign from the League. I'll not be on a team that allows its own members to be attacked by supposed teammates."

Sarah watched Nicky's blue eyes bulge, while her father merely raised an eyebrow. "A serious statement. Do you meant it?"

"Absolutely." Without another word, she turned on her heel and stalked toward the dressing room. It was going to be a bitch getting her costume off.

A thick file landed in front of Clark. He blinked in surprise and looked up. Bruce was standing in front of his desk, looking even grimmer than normal. "What's this?" the Kryptonian asked.

"Look at it," was the simple answer. Bruce sat down in one of the chairs in front of Clark's desk.

Raising an eyebrow at his long-time friend, Clark did as he was told. The folder was full of pictures, pictures of Michaela and Sarah in a Watchtower corridor, both glaring at one another. Nothing unusual there. It was no secret that the two girls didn't get along, something that saddened Clark immensely, but the fact was they were just too different. He supposed sometimes that his relationship with Bruce could have gone in that direction, had things been a little different.

He continued to look through the pictures. Michaela punched Sarah, then tried to kick her, only to be knocked to the ground. Not good.

"They're fighting again," Clark said aloud. "What's the problem this time?"

"Keep looking."

Clark sighed, but did as he was told. Next he came to a report from the infirmary, filled out by J'onn. Oh. Busted lip and cracked ribs.

"Does Sarah know about the baby yet?"

"No. Nick hasn't found the courage to tell her—I've made sure he knows he better tell her soon. Iris and Isabelle West played a joke on Michaela by putting a piece of fake Kryptonite in her bed. If I recall, Wally did something like that to you years ago, did he not?"

Clark paused, remembering the many pranks Wally had played on all of the Founders over the years. "Yeah," he replied, "he put a piece in my locker. Scared the crap out of me for a second."

"And how did you respond?"

The Kryptonian smirked. "I put pictures of him and Fire up all over the place. Linda wasn't happy when she heard about it. Neither was Fire, for that matter."

"An equally harmless prank," Bruce elaborated. "Your daughter responded to a prank by attacking a fellow League member, Kent. One not even responsible for the incident."

Clark winced, his amusement fading. Okay, so that was bad, even for those two.

Apparently the wince wasn't good enough for Bruce. "Something needs to be done, Clark. Now."

"I know she's a bit of a loose cannon," Superman admitted. "I guess I've given her too much leeway."

Bruce didn't say anything, which Clark took as confirmation. "So what are you suggesting?" he asked. "Should she go through basic training again?"

"Again?" Bruce asked, and then shook his head. "That's part of the problem. She never went through it in the first place. No one did until the Flash twins. In the case of Warkhawk, Prometheus, Superboy, and the others of the second generation, that hasn't been a problem."

"But it is with Michaela," Clark finished. "She's not going to like it."

"She doesn't have to. But the fact of the matter is that either Supergirl learns to keep her head and her temper, or Reaper leaves the League."

Clark's eyebrows shot up. "She'll leave? Sarah loves the League," he said.

"She can kick enough ass in Gotham; she doesn't need the League to do it. Plus it would give her more time to focus on training Terry."

The message was clear—Sarah didn't need the League. The League needed Sarah. Clark finally nodded. "Alright. We'll do something about it."

A/N: Review please!