A/N: Thank you for the reviews! And thank you, once again, to the marvellous and brilliant DaisyJane.
I miss those days and I miss those ways,
When I got lost in fantasies,
In a cartoon land of mysteries,
In a place you won't grow old,
In a place you won't feel cold,
And I'll say,
Seems I'm lost in my reflection,
Find a star for my direction,
For the little girl inside,
Who won't just hide,
Don't let me see mistakes or lies,
Let me keep my faith in innocent eyes.
Innocent Eyes—Delta Goodrem
Chapter Nine
He disappeared again, though she knew he was going outside the ship, to fly alongside it. Sure enough, a moment later a Kal-sized shape glided past the porthole. Alexa changed into her working class garb and folded her other clothes into a bundle to carry under her arm. She locked the door behind her and set off. Truth be told, she was almost as unconvinced as Kal. It seemed unlikely the gods would have sent her the paralytic if she would not need to use it. But there was always a chance, she reasoned.
She set off through the ship, and did not pass unnoticed; there were too few people around for that, but Alexa knew the art of staying unnoticed. At the end of one particularly narrow corridor she came across a man. There was clearly no room for them to pass, so she waited. He appeared to be so drunk he didn't notice her at first, which gave Alexa more than enough time to notice everything about him. He had a broken nose, dirty bandages on his hands, and two magnificent black eyes. He swayed into his end of the corridor, then seemed to notice she was a woman. He swayed backwards.
"Sorry, sweetheart. After you."
Strong Irish accent. When he'd left her, she waited a little moment and followed. He continued weaving around, and she was sure he would not have noticed her trailing him if she was an elephant, but she didn't take any chances either. It wouldn't be the fist time a suspect had faked inebriation. She flowed him to D deck, where he entered a room and was greeted by a very angry Irish woman, who decided it was a good idea to rain more blows down on his face.
"Argh! For the love of God, woman, leave off would ya?"
"You been fightin' again haven't ya? Damn you, Matthew, you know I ain't got the time to fix you up every time—how much did you lose this time?"
"I won, Mary. Might have to wait a bit before I get paid though –"
"And how long is that? We've only got two more days before we reach New York!"
"I'll get it tomorrow! There's only so many places McCarthy could go, and if he doesn't gimme the money I'll just find him and beat it out of him!"
"I've a good mind to go down to 142 and beat it out of him myself!" Mary snapped back.
Alexa smiled and left them to it. D deck, 142. She went to it and knocked smartly on the door three times. Someone opened it, and blinked at her. Another man who was bruised and battered.
"Yeah?"
"Hi. I'm looking for McCarthy?"
Behind the boxer—she could see his hands—stood a man who had been lying down on a bunk bed. He looked her up and down appreciatively. "You here to place a wager, darlin'? 'Cause I've got one or two bets we could make, the two of us."
"Afraid not," she smirked. Before she flicked him square on the forehead. He flew backwards and into a wall with a loud clang. The other man reacted much as anyone would: he swore loudly and pulled out a knife. Alexa was willing to bet it was the same blade that had killed her corpse. When he stabbed, she dodged, putting one hand behind his elbow and then slamming her other hand on the other side. The bone shattered with an audible noise. The man opened his mouth to scream, but Alexa had already let go of his arm and clamped her hand over his mouth. She knocked him out in much the same way she had his friend. She used the bedsheets to secure and gag them.
"Okay, boys, let's see what you've got for me …" she muttered, rifling through their pockets.
On McCarthy, she found the missing pocket watch, signet ring and money. It would be impossible to prove the money belonged to her dead man, but the back of the pocket watch was engraved with a name—James Feron—and the signet ring would fit, she was sure of it. As for the other man, the one she was sure was the actual murderer, his fingerprints would be all over the knife. It was not possible to prove that this was the knife (not in this time), but hopefully a decent medical examiner would pick up the truth.
It took her about ten minutes to move both men to just outside the master-at-arms' room, and then another thirty to get back to B deck. This close to dawn, people were starting to stir. When she got there, Kal was in the sitting room, pacing.
She smiled. "You knew I was fine."
"Something can always go wrong. Now I know you're fine."
She squeezed his hand and moved past him into her bedroom, quickly changing into her nightdress and a robe. Then she went back out to join him. They sat on the opposing sofas, looking at each other.
"So … how long do you think we have to wait?"
"To be sent home? I don't know," she sighed. "It depends."
"On if that's what we were meant to do," he nodded. "I'm sure it is, Alexa. If the gods did sent us here, then we've pleased them—although I'm not happy I'm having to—and maybe they just want to reward us now."
She bit her lip, wanting to believe him and unable to. "So we just get to sleep now, and enjoy our last day on the Titanic?"
"Exactly."
They only got a little sleep before Ethel and Williams came to wake them, and spent the day in very different moods. Alexa was worrying constantly, and Kal was stopping himself completely from worrying at all. It was difficult though, especially as the day wore on, and the ship continued steaming her way to disaster. But he stood by what he'd told Alexa. If morning turned into afternoon, and afternoon into evening, then so be it. There was no way he was making that choice. No way he was letting Alexa. If he had to protect her from herself then he would. Of course, he hadn't reckoned on Alexa protecting herself from him protecting her. He hadn't thought it necessary—there was nothing she had access to that could hinder him, short of outright attacking him. And he was confident that she wouldn't do that.
At dinner that night, she looked as unutterably beautiful as she had at all the other dinners. Everything tonight was surreal though, unreal to both of them. All these people eating and drinking and laughing were about to be fighting for their lives. At some point, one of them reached for the hand of the other, and didn't let go. It was past midnight when they got back to their state rooms, and finally alone.
Alexa walked to the gramophone, sitting in the corner, and turned it on, lowering the needle carefully. Scratchy music flowed from the speaker, filling the room. Then she looked at the drinks cabinet. "Goddess, I need a drink."
She poured them both one, her back to him. "I'm sorry I put you in this position, Kal."
"You didn't put me in any position. Your gods did.'
"Still. I'm sorry," she said, handing him a whisky.
They toasted each other silently, and Alexa threw hers back in one go. Since it would have no effect on him anyway, Kal did the same. Alexa stared broodingly into her empty glass. Conflict was obviously raging in her—to stop it, Kal stood up.
"Alexa?"
"Mmm?"
"Dance with me?"
She looked up. "What?"
He took her hand and pulled her close into him. "I'm asking you to dance with me."
She smiled and nodded, relaxing into him like she'd wanted nothing else all day. They started turning slowly on the spot, swaying from side to side with the music, but not really following any kind of steps. She fit perfectly, he noted. Head against his shoulder, the fragrance of her hair alluring and the long dark strands brushing against his hand—her arm on his back and his comfortably around her waist, matching each other on every point.
"I think …" Alexa began.
"You think?"
"I think I would have enjoyed it. Being on the Titanic with you. If it wasn't, you know … the Titanic."
He smiled. "Me too," he responded, without thinking.
She looked up, into his eyes, her own lightening. It was obvious she wanted him to kiss her, and Kal suddenly felt incredibly felt incredibly clumsy. Not only did he want to, it was probably expected. They were dancing, there was a strong, attraction between them. What else could happen next? He kicked himself inwardly for reacting so slowly—then realised he wasn't actually reacting at all. And he couldn't now. From leaning into him, he was now resting most of his weight on her.
"Alexa, I –"
"I know. I've done it," she said calmly, before manoeuvring him back to the couch, and laying him on it.
"Why?" he demanded, willing himself to move. Not one limb responded to the command.
"We got it wrong, Kal. Solving that murder hasn't done anything—we would have been sent home by now. That leaves moving the iceberg and saving the ship. I knew you'd try to stop me, so …"
"Alexa…"
She nodded apologetically, and then moved over to him. "I'm sorry, Kal. But I'm going to save this ship. You were right, we have a duty to, and by ignoring that I am a hypocrite. Don't worry – the paralysis will wear off in about six hours; I only need about an hour to get to the iceberg and move it out of the way."
"Alexa, you'll be effectively killing yourself."
She shrugged. "Then I'll be dying saving fifteen hundred lives. I can think of worse ways to go."
"But what about your family—the finances that the League needs –"
"If I've learned anything being part of the League it's that the universe has a way of correcting the balance. If the League is meant to be, then fate will find a way of bringing it about. Who knows, it may still find a way of bringing me about." She smiled. "I'm very glad to have known you, Kal. And I hope I'll know you again at some point." With that, she kissed his cheek and moved to the open window, through which poured a freezing Atlantic wind. "Wish me luck!"
"No. Alexa, don't be –"
Too late—she'd already gone. And it was only about fifteen minutes later that Kal realised the feeling was coming back into his hands. Not much of it, but his fingertips were starting to tingle. He tried to stand, or lift his arms, but failed. Strength might be returning, but too slowly to do much good. And Alexa was less than an hour from sacrificing herself. Time passed excruciatingly slowly—he kept pushing himself, and eventually got to the point where he could stand and then walk just fine … flying was proving a problem.
Half an hour.
He didn't even know which direction the iceberg was in. The direction the Titanic was headed, obviously, but what if they'd somehow changed something already, and she'd gone in a different direction? Alexa would have no problem locating it, he knew—there was no doubt that she was definitely smarter than him.
There was terrifyingly little time left by the time he finally regained his power of flight, and then he headed after her as fast as possible. He did catch up to her, but only as she was at the side of the iceberg, beginning to push it out of the way.
"Alexa!"
She stopped, landing on the top of the berg. "I should have known it wouldn't be enough. Damn Kryptonian physiology."
"You have to stop right now."
She gestured behind him, to where the lights and the shape of the Titanic were now distinct and very, very close. "I don't have a choice. Either help me, Kal, or get out of my way."
"No. To both."
"I don't understand. Two days ago you were all for saving them, now you don't want to?"
"Not at the cost of your life I don't."
"I'm one person, Kal, and we are talking about fifteen hundred people –!"
"Fifteen hundred people who are not worth one of you!"
Stunned silence.
"Please. Just come away—we'll save as many people as we can once she hits, get them into the lifeboats and everything else then. That way history still gets preserved and –"
"Kal, there are sixteen lifeboats, and over two thousand people. Even with each lifeboat holding seventy, half the people will still drown or die of hypothermia!"
"Alexa, I'm still not letting you do it!"
"You're not my father, Kal!"
As if his feelings for her were at all paternal. It was too late anyway. The ship was upon them. Alexa ran to dive off the iceberg; he caught her as she tried to pass him, and the Titanic struck, just as she always was going to. All the fight seemed to go out of Alexa as her eyes filled with tears.
"Too late," she whispered. Then she pulled herself together, clearing her throat. "Alright, we can still salvage some of this—when the ship goes down, we get as man people out of the water as possible. There's another ship, the Californian, twenty miles south of our position. You go and find it and bring it back here as soon as possible. We could still –"
Then Alexa's tongue froze to the roof of her mouth. Her feet froze to the berg. Kal was in much the same state, paralysed for the second time that night. The rest of the world was speeding up. The ship was already listing forwards, and then she was splitting in two, tearing like paper. Every rivet holding her together failed. The screams were everywhere. Little tiny dots of pale hands and faces, all reaching out for help, were starting to be visible. The nearest lifeboat had twelve people in it.
Then Kal could move again, and so could Alexa. "What is going on?"
"Doesn't matter," Alexa snapped. "Kal, get that ship. I'll get people out of the water –"
And then the world skipped forward. Skipped, like a scratch on a movie disc. They were suddenly watching the end of the Titanic plunge into the North Sea—another skip. People in the water were still, stiff, cold. Dead. When they were mobile again, Alexa didn't waste time: she ran to dive off the iceberg, stopped only by an unexpected voice.
"You won't be able to save them," a voice called after her, from behind both of them.
They both turned to see J'onn standing on the other end of the iceberg. His expression was intensely sorrowful. "J'onn? What's going on here? Why can't we save them?"
"How are you here?" Alexa demanded.
"Here is not where you think."
"What do you mean?"
In answer, J'onn looked towards the suddenly-flickering sky. "End programme."
She didn't have to demand to know what that meant—the bright white light was back again, and the next thing she knew, she was lying on a bed on the Metrotower infirmary. There were sensors attached to her head; she ripped them off, looking around. On a bed next to her, Kal was sitting up, looking equally confused. At the foot of her bed stood Tom. His arms were folded.
Alexa sat up, glaring at her twin. "Does somebody want to tell me what in Tartarus is going on? What was that?"
"That," Tom replied, "was your psych evaluation. And you both failed."
A/N: Review please!