A/N: Thank you for the reviews! And thank you to my beta, the lovely AQ.

cajun strong man 2: The Phantasm is an old Batman villain. I'd suggest wiki-ing her because it's a long complicated story. There's an animated movie called Mask of the Phantasm which I'd recommend.

Chapter Fifteen—Milkshake

"Penny for your thoughts?"

Sarah blinked, then looked up. Warm green eyes met hers. She smirked. "You'd have to pay me more than a penny."

Warhawk gestured at the empty seat next to her. "How about the pleasure of my company?"

"Be my guest. I just have a few updates to install." They were silent for a while, and it was all-too-easy for Sarah to slip back into her brooding.

"You're really not listening, are you?"

"Huh?"

"You don't look happy," he noted. "In fact you look like you could do with cheering up." He picked a glass of pink liquid from his left. "Was going to drink it myself, but you look like you need it more than I do."

She raised an eyebrow. "Strawberry milkshake? Honestly, Rex."

He smiled. "Don't knock it till you try it."

She rolled her eyes. "Well I can't drink it all. It's your drink."

"There are two straws," he pointed out.

It was Sarah's turn to smile; the first time all day. She took one straw, and drank some of the milkshake. It was way too pink, tasted nothing like strawberry, so sweet it made her teeth hurt and the overriding taste was chemicals. Nonetheless, it made her feel better instantly.

Rex grinned, looking like he knew exactly what she was thinking. "Disgusting, isn't it?"

She laughed. "Absolutely foul. But then I guess the automated chef can't do much better."

"True. Some things have to be done by people."

"And the right people," she added. "My parents try, but no one makes meatballs the way Alfred used to." Sarah silently wondered if making Alfred's meatballs would make the entire situation with Nicky and Michaela a bit easier to swallow. She could almost hear Alfred whispering to her now, What's done is done, Miss Sarah; there's no going back. So what will you do now?

Sarah sighed. It was times like this that the empty spot in her heart where Alfred used to be ached even more than normal.

"Agreed. There's this place in DC that makes the best milkshakes anywhere in America, I swear. I'll take you," he added. "Gotta make up for this one somehow."

She laughed, shaking his proffered hand. "Deal."

"So how about tomorrow?"

She stopped, staring at him. Luckily her white lenses hid her eyes, wide with shock (and not a little elation), but she stared for so long that her emotions couldn't be hidden from him. She'd thought it was a joke, banter to raise her spirits. Now it actually sounded like a date.

"Tomorrow?"

"Yeah, we're both in DC, so…"

"We are?"

He laughed again, and Sarah decided she was missing something. "You're really not with it, are you?"

"Apparently not. But then I'm not 'with' a lot of stuff. Like the fact that Michaela's pregnant, or the fact that-"

"Whoa, Sarah – what?"

"Yeah. Last in the family to know. Brilliant, isn't it?"

"So it's–"

"Nicky's, yeah."

He shook his head. "I can't believe it."

"Yeah well he couldn't believe it when I went after him with a poker either, but surprises happen I guess."

He eyed her curiously. "You're looking strangely indifferent to the whole thing."

"I'm not," Sarah replied, leaning back in her chair. "I'm just temporarily angered out at the moment. I wonder how long it'll last?"

"Ah. How far along is she?"

"About six weeks apparently. I still can't believe he'd be so reckless. And now the result is…"

She sighed, and then shoved thoughts of the foetus growing inside Michaela away. She had another eight months to worry about it, after all. "What did you mean?" she asked. "About tomorrow?"

"I meant since we're both in DC, we could go get that milkshake. Or did you forget that too?"

Sarah cast her mind around for what she needed to be in DC for tomorrow… "Oh crap."

"Crap? Don't think Vogue would appreciate that."

"I can't believe I forgot!"

"Don't worry about it. Your photographer won't mind if you're late," he grinned.

She looked at him, surprised. Tomorrow she was supposed to be going to DC in order to do a photo-shoot and interview for Vogue, to be featured in the 'women of power' issue in that November. It wasn't being shot in Gotham because the interviewer had flatly refused to enter a city where her Gucci had such a high chance of being stolen, and neither was it in New York, because the Editor in Chief thought they used New York for too many shoots. Sarah wasn't exactly sure what made her a 'woman of power' – except her nighttime activities – but any opportunity to spread her shallow, press-courting other-self was never something to be turned down lightly, so she'd agreed.

"You're the photographer?"

While she knew full-well how brilliant a photographer Rex was, and why it had won him several prizes and a successful career – fashion photography was not something she'd ever thought he might consider.

He laughed. "Can you see me having any patience with supermodels? No, I'm there taking pictures for the new tourism campaign. We should meet up after and I'll buy you that milkshake."

It was on the tip of her tongue to agree enthusiastically while fighting her heart back into her ribcage, as it felt as though it was bursting out at an alarming rate. Then she was reminded of the promise she'd made to herself. She shut her mouth and glanced away, for once not having a reply ready prepared.

"It's okay," Rex said immediately. "Just an idea, doesn't matter…"

Sarah gathered her courage. "It's not that I don't want to–"

"Yeah, I know it's not that you don't want to, Sarah," he said, looking at her very directly. "But I don't know why it is. Just answer me one question – have I pissed you off? And if I have, how?"

"You haven't–"

He sighed. "You don't talk to me anymore, Sarah. If we're on a mission together and you've organised it, you put me in the position furthest from you."

"That's not true, I–"

"So if I have, would you just tell me? I thought we were friends. Jesus, we've known each other since we were toddlers!"

Sarah's heart twisted. "We are friends," she said emphatically. Even if what I want goes so far beyond that. Truthfully she had been putting him at as great a distance as possible – the fact was, he was a distraction. From Gotham, from her League duties. It didn't make the fact that she missed him any easier. Pushing that aside, she sighed. "I'm sorry, Rex. You haven't pissed me off, I've just been preoccupied lately. With... Terry, and now this thing with Supergirl..." She sighed again. "I haven't been actively avoiding you," – lie, a voice in her mind hissed – "I just..."

He leaned forward, squeezed her shoulder. Even at that innocent touch her heart beat faster. "It's okay," he said. "I just... I've missed you, y'know?"

She put her hand on his. "Yeah." I've missed you too.

He grinned. "So – milkshake tomorrow?"

Briefly, the memory of him unconscious in the med-bay, bandages strapped all around his chest and an IV in his hand flashed into the forefront of Sarah's head. The corresponding rush of emotion made her nod. "Sure. I'll call you once the interview's done."

"Great," he grinned. "Then it's a date."

Before Reaper could make a move to pick her jaw up off the floor, he'd bid her goodnight and left. Sarah leaned back onto her seat and laughed. "Hera. Never rains but it pours…"

First Nicky and the baby, and now she was actually doing something with Rex? Was that an actual date? He'd said it, but he'd also said they were friends. Friends, not something else. Which meant that, really, their interests coincided beautifully, didn't it? Perhaps this was some sort of test for her resolution to devote herself entirely to Gotham. Leaving the room, she headed toward her quarters onboard and locked the door behind her. Removing her hood, she knelt at the small alter. It was some time before she spoke.

"I don't know what to do. I don't know what I'm supposed to do. Please, help me. Guide me."

Diana couldn't remember the last time a Founder's meeting had been this tense. She could well be imagining it, but she didn't think she was. Certainly she, Clark and Bruce were the only people who knew for sure that something was going to be done about Michaela's behaviour. Though, Shayera and John certainly looked ready to demand it, and she didn't blame them. Rex had been lucky, that was all. One inch down and the injury would have been fatal.

Wally had easily picked up on the tension of the others, and was watching his friends and comrades with none of his usual amusement. By the time Clark had moved onto 'other business', everyone was on the edge of their seats. Except J'onn, of course.

"We have one last item of discussion before we're finished," Clark said, glancing around at the others. "I trust you've all heard of the altercation between Reaper and Supergirl last week?"

Bruce and Diana nodded, as did Shayera and Wally, surprisingly. John didn't react in any visible way, but Clark assumed that Shay likely mentioned it to him at some point.

"Apparently, a practical joke was played and Supergirl... errantly blamed Reaper for it," Clark elaborated.

Wally sighed. "Iris and Isabelle claimed responsibility for it, and apologized to both Reaper and Supergirl for what happened. They even took up what they could of Reaper's League duties while she recovered."

Diana nodded. "Reaper appreciated that," she told him. "But that isn't the problem here. The problem is that Supergirl's attack on Reaper has caused additional problems."

"What's happening?" John asked.

Diana hesitated for a moment, so Bruce answered for her. "Reaper has made it clear that she will no longer put up with Supergirl's behavior. She has stated on more than one occasion that Supergirl's impulsiveness has put her fellow League members in danger. This personal attack is the final straw. Reaper has stated that if something is not done to rein Supergirl in, she will resign from the League."

The reactions of the other Founders were interesting. Diana and Clark weren't surprised, since they knew ahead of time. Wally's jaw dropped and he looked stricken, even behind his mask. John's expression darkened and he crossed his arms as he leaned back in his chair. Shayera's lips thinned and her eyes flashed.

"She has more than enough to keep her busy in Gotham, dealing with criminals there as well as training Batman," Diana spoke up again. "However, this move would have severe consequences for the League, both in the short-term and in the long run."

"I agree," J'onn said solemnly, "but we cannot be seen to play favourites."

"Play favourites?" John repeated. "J'onn, it's gone past that point. I'm sorry, Clark, but there really isn't a choice here. The League needs Reaper."

"Not to mention it's not just Reaper that Supergirl in endangering," Shayera added somewhat angrily. "Just a few days ago she almost got Rex killed because she couldn't even –"

"There's no point in raking up old coals," Bruce interrupted, seeing how this could all-too-easily become a mud-slinging match. "But we can't sugar the pill anymore. Either Supergirl learns some discipline, or Reaper walks away." When Terry was ready, he'd probably be able to almost equal Reaper's tactical brilliance, but he wasn't there yet. Experience was just as much of a teacher as Sarah was for her younger brother.

"So Supergirl undergoes basic training?" Wally asked. He'd never said it, but he had always thought it wasn't really fair for Iris and Isabelle to have to pass assessments when other Founders' kids hadn't.

"It's the best way to ensure she doesn't simply rely on her strength in future," Diana said.

"Will it keep Reaper in the League?" John asked.

Bruce nodded. "If the lessons are learned, then yes."

"So we're agreed," Clark sighed. "Supergirl goes through training. Can anyone think of anyone else who might need to?"

No one offered any names.

Superman nodded shortly. "I'll inform Supergirl as soon as possible; I think that's it for this meeting."

They all left, Bruce and Diana walking back to the transporter room slower than the rest. "This can't be easy for Kal," she sighed.

"He's not doing this as a father," Bruce said, "he's doing it as a Founder, and as a Founder he has to concede that the League needs Reaper more than it needs Supergirl."

"So she has us over a barrel?" Diana asked dryly.

Bruce raised an eyebrow. "Can you blame her?"

"No, not at all," his wife replied, "I was just thinking...you've trained her very well. When we started the League you were indispensable to us. Reaper's the same."

Bruce tried – and failed – to hide a smirk. "When's she getting back?"

"This evening. About eight, she said."

Sarah had eventually decided to call Rex once her photo-shoot was finished, but he was done first, having spent most of the afternoon trying to clear at least some of the tourists out of his shot of the Lincoln Memorial. Sarah texted him the address of the hotel her interview was being conducted in with the room number to call once he got there.

When he arrived, he found he was actually nervous. Jesus, was he actually taking Sarah Wayne for a milkshake? How lame was that? Forget ignoring him, he was stunned she hadn't just laughed in his face. He'd known her for his whole life, knew the face she showed to the press wasn't who she was in any way, but it was hard to remember sometimes. Rex remembered his parents reminiscing about Bruce in the old days, how he seemed like two completely different men depending on whatever clothes he wore at the time – only for him to emerge as a third man once he and Diana married. Sarah, and even Terry to some extent, was exactly the same. Reaper, the party-girl and the woman who wasn't either of them. The woman who was scared sometimes, who, he suspected, was dominated by her heart a lot more than she'd like to admit. At least he hoped that was the case. And he hoped her heart had developed a soft spot for him.

Come on, Stewart, get it together… It's just Sarah.

Right. Just Sarah. Just funny, beautiful, amazing, formidable, genius, totally enigmatic Sarah. Where was Kyra when he needed her to laugh at him? Right now he just needed to be reminded that this wasn't in any way serious. That it didn't matter. Or his dad.

Giving himself a sharp slap upside the head (though not literally, there were quite a few people around), Rex pulled out his cell and dialled the number.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Sarah," he smiled, recognising her voice. "I'm here."

"Great," she said warmly. "It's suite 1091, come up."

When he arrived, he was let in by the magazine's photographer, who gave him the once over, and was obviously not impressed by his clothes. He didn't have time to say anything, though, because the journalist who supposedly done the interview came over, hand extended. Her manicured nails were long and flashed in the light like claws.

"You must be Rex Stewart, am I right? Sarah's…?"

"Friend."

"Oh," she pouted, "just 'friend'? She turned to where Sarah was picking up her purse and coat. "You're letting your reputation down, Miss Wayne."

She flashed an easy and dazzling grin, then hugged Rex, kissing his cheek and sending a cloud of perfume tying his senses in knots. He helped her on with her coat still slightly dazed. It was made worse when she took his hand and her body language went into full-flirt mode. Just an act, just an act, just an act, he chanted over and over in his head.

"Sorry to disappoint, Verity," she grinned, looking as if she knew the journalist was writing mental notes at a furious pace. "I'll see you at the Versace spring-line launch?"

"Sure. And the interview will be in the November issue."

"Great."

She shook hands with Verity and the photographer, and they left still hand in hand. Deciding that fortune favoured the bold, Rex tightened his fingers around hers a little bit. She didn't pull away. But then they were still being watched. Once in the elevator, she did let go.

"Sorry," she said. "Like she said – in public I have a reputation for flirting with everything in pants."

He nodded. "I understand."

There was a pause before he took her hand again. Without her mask, it was easy to see her blue eyes widen and the faint blush that coloured her cheeks. "Sarah–"

He was cut off by his com-link going off. From the instantly serious and cold expression which fell over Sarah's face, she was receiving the incoming message as well. "Warhawk, Reaper – there's been an emergency call made from the Lincoln Memorial; a suspicious package that has been confirmed as a bomb. Bomb disposal unit is fighting through DC traffic but–"

"We're on our way," he said firmly.

"Great. Local law enforcement have cordoned off the area, I'll tell them to expect you."

Sarah was busy doing something over by the control panel of the elevator; when she straightened, the elevator actually sped up. "I've got my costume in the car," she said.

"Yeah, mine too."

It took them less than two minutes to change and then fly over the capital city to the Lincoln Memorial. A police officer waved them down urgently. "Thank God you're here," he panted. "I-I don't know anything about bombs, but – it looks big. Like nuclear big."

A/N: Review please!