First off, thank you EVERYONE who reviewed here and also messaged me to pass on prayers and wishes. I actually came home and cried over a few. With how jaded this world gets at time, it really touches you to realize just how many people wish good things for you and love you. We're so very, very blessed to have you guys as friends and readers and know that we loved all of you back. Thank you so much for how much you stick by us. Believe me when I say that it honestly means so much. :D
Anissa's back is back to 100% and we're back to work on the writing. This is a relief because I've been miserable without the writing. That's the thing; I find I get really depressed and trapped in my own head when I can't tap into my imagination. Things get miserable and hard and depressing? I have to plot and plan to get out of my funk. That said, it's been a rough month.
Also in the good, the FIL survived the surgery that everyone expected to either kill him or turn him into a vegetable. Which, when you consider that he was going to flat die if we didn't do the surgery, the choice was clear. Well, a week later, he's mostly coherent, is on a pureed diet [he was NPO for a week, so this is great], can get to the toilet on his own, and is being able to sit up in a chair for short periods. So bless all of you that said prayers and sent those wonderful vibes; we obviously have strong friends because it worked. Next up, maybe next week, is a stint in rehab. Anissa and I are out of the house at least 10 hours a day and, with how weak he is right now and the amount of falls he had in the 32 hours before we made him go to the hospital, there isn't any other question. We not going to have had him defy death that closely, only to have it happen again a few weeks later. We want him to have the best shot possible and that means live-in rehab for a few weeks. He won't exercise on his own and we can't be here to watch him and the expense of a nurse isn't an option. So we love him enough that he's going. Keep your fingers crossed that we keep progressing at this level.
A few issues going on at work, but that will even itself out. It always does.
Enjoy, all! Welcome back!
Jason and Cassie were lying on the roof at her mom's house, watching a meteor shower and more or less oblivious to everything else in the world. It was easy to feel like everything was a few thousand miles away, when it was—they were in Gateway City north of Santa Maria, and real life was very much on the East Coast. Helena Sandsmark had gone out for the evening just after they'd all had dinner together, with only a half-teasing, "Don't wreck the house, kids," in the way of admonishment. Considering that they hadn't spoken for several days, and hadn't really seen each other in a couple weeks, it wouldn't have been surprising if they'd ended up in Cassie's bed. But they were out here, under the open sky, Cassie curled up to his side and both of them staring at the stars instead of each other.
It was good to have her company again. Jason hadn't realized it until Kala pointed it out the other day, but he'd been kind of stuck in a rut. Navel-gazing, focusing only on what was wrong, barely giving enough of his attention to school to keep from getting behind. Heck, he hadn't even stared up at the night sky in so long, he'd almost forgotten about the meteor shower. Cassie had to remind him—Jason, the cosmology nerd, forgetting something as obvious as this.
"You ever wish on a meteor?" Jason asked quietly.
"When I was a kid," Cassie replied in the same hushed voice. "I wished I could meet my dad. Of course then he turns out to be a Greek god, and kind of a jerk, too. What about you?"
A little laugh hitched in his chest. "Same thing. I made up all these stories … he was a fireman who died saving a bunch of kids, and Mom couldn't bear to tell us. Or he was a secret agent who couldn't have a family because it would blow his cover. Kid stuff. Funny, I never did get around to superhero. Kala figured that out before I did."
Jason felt more than heard Cassie chuckle in response. "Well, you did say she tells people she's the smart one."
He made a scoffing noise at that. "Yeah, right. She's a sister, and a little sister. They're put on this Earth to be annoying little brats."
Cassie elbowed him, lightly. "The genius brother said, to the little-sister-by-adoption of both Wonder Woman and Troia. Smooth move, Jase."
"That doesn't count. Same reason Kristin is cool. You only gain aggravation-related superpowers if you're born a younger sibling." As easily as he replied, Jason had felt her take care in elbowing him just then, and it made him stifle a sigh. Not that long ago he and Cassie could happily rough-house, but now she had to be careful. He was just another fragile human, now.
It wasn't that it bothered him that his girlfriend was stronger than he was; Jason wasn't that shallow. He certainly wasn't ashamed that someone was stronger than him, especially not that a girl was. After all, he knew perfectly well that the strongest person in his immediate family was Mom, all five-foot-five of her, with only sarcasm and stubbornness for superpowers. Heck, even when he'd had his powers, Cassie could still trounce him about half the time when they sparred.
It was just that she had to be careful, now, where once they had they been each other's refuge from a world that could be too breakable.
"Hey. Tall, dark, and nerdy." Cassie reached over and tapped his nose. "Looks like a lot of deep thoughts going through that head of yours."
"Not really. That's just how I look," Jason replied, and kissed her hair.
His father could've told him that the worst thing anyone could do in a relationship was to stop talking about the things that bothered you.
…
Alarms shrilled all around him. The man called Metallo snarled under his breath. This was taking way too damned long! He threw a furious punch at the door of the bank vault, and finally felt it give.
He needed capital, that was the problem. Cash. Not knowing who he was made things like applying for credit cards pretty damned impossible. And taking a job was completely out, even if he'd wanted to wait and save and slog through to his end goal. He had a big green fucking glowing rock in his chest, like anybody could miss that.
So, bank robbery. No big deal, the banks robbed people all the time. Forty dollar fee on a check that bounced by ten cents, and if you didn't pay it back in a week they hit you with another fee. Lying, thieving bastards, they could stand to lose it, and he could put it to better use than they could.
But luck wasn't with him, and the bank he picked had alarms all over the place, and he knew the cops were coming. This was supposed to be quick, sneak up in the middle of the night, use the strength in his cursed metal arm to get through any lock he couldn't pick, grab the cash and bolt. Smash and grab, yeah, but he didn't want anything more complicated than that. No tellers, no hostages, no witnesses, no drama.
Now he had drama. Lots of it. Sirens in the distance. Another furious blow to the vault door, and it bent in a big crease. That let him grab an edge and haul it back enough to squeeze through. Stacks of cash just waiting for him, and he scraped them into the bag he'd brought. Rushing now, sirens outside getting closer, and it was a damn good thing that whatever they'd done to him made him stronger and faster overall, because he was gonna need it.
"You must be new in town," a jovial voice said from outside the vault, and his heart sank. Busted.
But then he turned around, and saw the caped silhouette, and remembered for the hundredth time that he didn't have a heart anymore. He bared his teeth in a feral grin. "I didn't come here to fight with you. Just making a quick withdrawal here, no concern of yours. The bank has more than they need."
"Unfortunately, it is my concern," the hero answered. "It's not the bank that will suffer, it's the people whose money that was. Put down the bag and come out here."
"Better come in and get me," Metallo growled. He shifted the cash bag to his left hand, and flexed his right. For the first time that alien limb felt smooth, powerful, wonderful. The Man of Steel seemed awfully eager to add himself to the list of Metallo's enemies, so fine, let him do it. Let him have a taste of this radiation, this kryptonite. "Come right on in and get me, Supes. If you can."
…
Trying to intervene in a riot hadn't been one of Steph's best ideas. She knew that much even though her head felt like it had been stuffed with cotton wool. Damp, gross, mildewed cotton wool, at that. She blinked—or tried to. Despite the protection of her Spoiler cowl, her right eye was swollen shut. Damn, she thought, and tried to sit up.
A hand on her shoulder stopped her, and Steph exploded into action. She'd been taught too well by crime-fighters and life itself not to let anyone hold her down. Unfortunately, when she tried to grab the other person's wrist and yank them across her body in a joint lock, all the muscles she was trying to use basically phoned in sick for work. All she managed was a spastic twitch.
"Shh, you're okay," a woman's voice murmured. Low and soothing, but Steph didn't necessarily trust that. She tried to blink her good eye clear and look up, seeing a dark shape with pointed ears.
"Batgirl?" she managed to whisper. Cass tended to show up just in time to save Steph's bacon, but last she heard the other girl was out of the country. And on whispering the name, she discovered that her throat was raw, a result of shouting at bystanders to get the hell out of the way—and at bad guys to back the hell off unless they wanted a face full of boot.
The laugh in reply was throaty and full of amusement. "No, I'm no bat. Now sit up slowly so your head won't spin … there, that's it. How do you feel, kitten?"
Steph's eye finally focused after she rubbed it, and she realized the costume the woman wore definitely wasn't Bat-material. In fact, it was decidedly slinky, and around her waist was coiled a tail—no, a whip. That, and the purring tone, and the nickname, all clued Steph in at last. (Hey, she never claimed to be the best detective on the block; that was Robin's job.) "You're that … you're Catwoman," she blurted, almost saying cat burglar but quickly deciding it would've been impolite. Instead she went with the moniker the media had applied to the master thief who'd been plaguing the Gotham jewel district.
"That's me," the other woman purred, a glint of green eyes behind the mask. "And you're Spoiler, in case you were wondering."
"Yeah, thanks, I remember who I am," Steph said, managing a rusty chuckle. She pressed one hand to her forehead and winced, immediately regretting it. "Where are we?"
"One of my safehouses," Catwoman replied. A tabby cat had jumped into her lap, seemingly out of nowhere. A white one was sniffing interestedly at Steph's boots. "It's just a minor concussion, you should be fine. The rest are just bruises and scrapes. I got you away before they could start kicking. What were you doing, trying to break up a riot all by yourself?"
There was absolutely no reason why Steph should trust this woman. She was a thief, she'd driven her claws straight through Batman's gauntlet when he tried to capture her, she lived on the wrong side of the law. But she was being nice, she'd rescued Steph, and she sounded genuinely concerned, not scolding. So somehow it came tumbling out without a second thought.
"Because I started it, that riot was my fault," Steph said, and her voice broke a little. Her shoulders shook and she tried to hold it back.
Catwoman cocked her head, mouth turned down in confusion. "You started it?"
"Not on purpose. I was trying … trying to prove something to Batman … I set up one of his plans and it was all going perfect … but then the one guy I needed most didn't show up and they all turned on each other…." Putting her hands to her face, Steph squeezed her eyes shut, trying not to sob and failing. "It all went to hell and people died and I'm the one to blame. I screwed up so, so bad … you shoulda just left me there." Perpetual screw-up, I'll never be good enough for anybody—well, nobody worth it, I was good enough for a sleaze like Dean but look where that got me. Never gonna be a hero, not even a damn sidekick, just the stupid girl tagging along after them all.
A gentle hand on her hair, then the couch she'd been lying on moved as Catwoman sat down beside her. Without a word, she tugged Steph over so her head was resting on the woman's shoulder. "Listen, kitten, there's only three things I'm completely sure about in this life. One, nobody's perfect, and anyone who says they are is hiding some serious issues from everybody including themselves. Two, you gotta look out for yourself, because no one else will. And three, you can't prove anything to Batman that he doesn't want to see."
That advice, and the complete lack of judgment that came with it, made Steph break down completely. She wept for the people who'd gotten hurt today, the ones who'd died, even the bad guys. And for herself, for the bald fact that no, she never would be good enough for Batman. Maybe not even for Red Robin.
Eventually her sobs died down to sniffles, and Steph rubbed at her face. She was all gross from crying, but Catwoman didn't seem to care. "Let it go," she said softly.
There was a cat in Steph's lap now, kneading her armored thigh and purring. Actually, a couple of them were purring, a rumble of comfort just within the range of Steph's hearing. It would be nice to be like them, concerned only with the needs and delights of the moment, unabashedly selfish and unashamedly sensual creatures. No concept of justice, no need for acceptance, perfect little self-sufficient predators just charming enough that people would take care of their every need and leave them more time for sleeping in the sun.
"I can't let it go," Steph whispered, scrubbing the tears from her eyes. Self-pity wasn't a particularly strong part of her character, and unlike the average cat, she had a strong sense of justice. "It's my mistake. I have to do what I can to fix it."
Catwoman arched a brow at her, the gesture clear despite her cowl. "Says who?"
Steph could only blink. "Huh?"
"Who says you have to fix it? If everyone had to fix their own mistakes, politicians wouldn't have time to do much else. No one's going to make you go back there, not when you almost got killed. No one would expect you to." Something in those green eyes said Selina was testing her, just a little, more curious about what she'd said than espousing a personal philosophy.
"I say, and that's all that matters," Steph replied. "No one has to make me do it. I couldn't look at myself in the mirror if I just slunk off and let Batman handle it for me." With that she picked up the cat in her lap and set it gently on the table, standing up. The cat, of course, strolled indolently away as if it had just been about to get up anyway. Turning to her host, Steph smiled. "Thanks for taking care of me."
Catwoman looked up at her and shook her head. "It figures."
"What does?" Steph asked, curiosity infecting her, too.
The woman's grin was decidedly catlike in its amusement. "You feel like you have to be responsible and make it right, no matter what. Figures the first interesting person in this town besides the Bat himself turns out to be a dog person."
…
Superman sighed. There were parts of his job that he loved. Saving lives was the brightest, shortly followed by seeing the wonder in someone's gaze when he swooped down and made things right. There were other parts of it that he liked a lot. Who wouldn't enjoy standing still with his arms crossed and making quippy one-liners at bad guys whose bullets just ricocheted harmlessly off?
However, very few things in life were purely fun, and even superhero had its downsides as an occupation. While failing to break a huge story on the front page of the Daily Planet was a disappointment, failing to rescue someone in time was orders of magnitude worse. The toll of people almost saved, disasters almost averted, haunted Kal-El like nothing else. Only Lois' dogged faith in him kept him sane over the years—that, and the way the twins looked up to him.
Somewhere in the middle were the tedious tasks, like this. A bank robber, none too skilled or professional, holed up in the vault and daring him to come in. This one didn't seem to have any sense of the trouble he was in, and he hadn't even responded to the gentle humor which could once in a while defuse a standoff. Superman sighed and moved closer. "Let's not make this any more unpleasant than it has to be, all right?"
A nasty chuckle came from within the vault, and he hesitated. For the first time in a long time, Kal-El felt … worried. Something about that laugh, as if the robber knew something he didn't. He focused his x-ray vision through the wall, wanting a closer look at the man.
The metal arm got his attention, fast. Some kind of cyborg? Such enhancements tended to give great strength, along with a variety of other powers depending on how they'd been built. Kal-El hadn't heard of a cyborg on the East Coast in a while, though. That meant this guy really was new in town, new to the overall capes-and-villains game. Maybe he just didn't know that his strength was nothing against the man he faced, maybe he wasn't aware that he was dealing with a Kryptonian.
But he'd called Kal-El 'Supes', so he knew who he was up against. Superman's powers were extremely well-known. Schoolchildren all over the country claimed they wanted to be him when they grew up, so they could fly and catch falling planes and be invincible. So why was this one laughing under his breath in not-quite-sane glee at the prospect of facing a founding member of the Justice League of America, someone who had once lifted an island into orbit?
Kal-El had just enough time to remember what that island had been made of before the robber got tired of waiting and rushed him.
…
All hell was breaking loose in Gotham, and Batman was well behind the breaking-point of it, trying desperately to catch up. It didn't help that Nightwing was benched due to injuries, or that Batgirl had inconveniently disappeared, or that Black Canary was in Star City with the Arrows.
He'd located the epicenter of the riot fairly quickly, and getting there was also harder than it should have been. Spoiler had been involved in this fight, and Red Robin was distracted, off his game, searching for her. Batman had to recall him to his duty several times, and he was nowhere near his usual effectiveness.
The violence was spilling over across town, criminals elsewhere taking opportunistic advantage of the situation. With the major organized crime and Batman both preoccupied, they were having a field day. And only Huntress was free to combat them. He couldn't pay attention to that, focused on the situation in front of him and the steady stream of information Oracle was pouring into his comm unit. She was working double-duty tonight, providing support for himself and for Huntress.
They were stretched so thin that he caught himself wishing Red Hood had been in town. No, he couldn't let himself think that; the boy who had once been his pupil and a rare source of joy in his life had grown into a man who would see an all-too-easy solution to this. He would've fired gleefully into the thickest tangle of combat, mowing down gangsters left and right, and he probably would've given that old reckless laugh of his while he did it. The sound, deeper in tone now but still just as carefree, had sounded ghostly to Batman's ears when they faced each other last. Haunting and heartbreaking in equal measure.
Enough reminiscing, he was getting to be as unfocused as Robin. This block was more or less subdued, and Batman moved on to the next, where several members of the Falcone syndicate were engaged in a brutal battle of attrition against some of Two-Face's men. Batman prepared to lob a smoke pellet into their midst…
…only to see smoke already rising. He paused, wondering who else was in the thick of this. The men, all of whom had been in Gotham long enough to fear a Bat swooping down from the rooftops, looked up, momentarily forgetting their animosity toward each other. While their attention was up, and while Batman cloaked himself in shadow, the real assailant struck.
Spoiler. He had to admit, it was neat work, if terribly risky. She had brought down a pair of them before they even knew she was among them, and then the men were too confused to mount an appropriate defense. Half of them were down in under a minute. "Next sector," Batman said into the microphone concealed in his cowl. "Spoiler has this one under control."
As Robin squawked in surprise at the news of his girlfriend's reappearance, and Oracle directed them both, Batman thought for a moment that Stephanie Brown was doing very well, far better than he'd expected in a mess like this. Well enough that he didn't stop to wonder why she was there, why she was fighting with such determination. All he saw was someone he could trust to finish off a half-pacified fight.
If he'd known that she had a concussion and severely bruised ribs, he wouldn't have left that section to her alone.
…
This was not going according to plan. Kal-El knew that feeling of weakness all too well; he had already begun to sweat, and the muscle tremors weren't far behind. Kryptonite. The cyborg had it implanted in his chest, that sickly green glow making the Kryptonian nauseous as much from dread as from its actual effects. Deadly radiation, bleeding in through every pore, wrecking his invulnerability as it came. The sensible course of action would've been to retreat and regroup, but there was no backup in town other than the cops—and he couldn't let this maniac go tearing through them.
That metal fist looped toward his face, and Kal-El ducked. The blow crashed into the wall, ripping out a chunk of concrete, and the cyborg caught him on the backswing. Rao, he was strong! It had been a long time since Kal-El had been lifted off his feet by a punch, and the robber whooped with unbridled glee.
Time to stop this. Kal-El drove a solid punch squarely at the arm. Kryptonite didn't erase his powers, so he still had strength, though his balance was off thanks to the vertigo it sent swimming through his brain. The blow was decisive, and flung the cyborg to the ground, stunning him unconscious.
He had to get out of the immediate range of the kryptonite. Kal-El staggered outside to see flashing lights on the cop cars. "Stand aside," he called. "This man is extremely…"
…dangerous, was how he meant to finish the sentence, but that was when the cyborg leapt on him from behind and crashed both of them into the nearest police cruiser.
…
"What the fuck was that?" Robb yelped. Kala, whose hearing was much better than his even after four hours in the recording studio singing her lungs out, knew it was a car crash of some kind. A heavy percussive whump followed by the tinkling of shattered glass and metal shards. Given the hour, probably some drunk—or someone falling asleep behind the wheel, if she was going to be charitable.
A little twinge of responsibility way down in her soul tugged at her, but … it wasn't her job. It wasn't her place it get involved. Sure, she had a mask in the hidden pocket of her jacket, but the cops could handle a fender-bender, and Dad and Jason had the big stuff if it came to that.
Except no, not Jason. He had a date tonight, waiting on Wonder Girl to pick him up, and Kala had called him up just to serenade him with Tupac's California Love. She'd heard Cassie laughing in the background by the time she got to the refrain, and Jason hung up in despair at the mockery. Jason was in Gateway with Cassie, and without his powers there was no way Lizardboy could flea-hop his way over here. Even if he could, again, no powers. At best he'd be a bystander with first aid training.
The boys were still muttering about it, giving Robb hell for having been so spooked. Kala shrugged her bag a little higher on her shoulder, thinking of nothing more than going home and getting some rest. It was been a very long day, her head felt as if it was going to split in half…
And then she noticed people trotting briskly toward the noise. It was Morgan who called, "What's going on?"
Someone turned around and replied, "Superman's fighting somebody about ten blocks over! We wanna see!"
That quickly, the tension headache was gone, dread and a creeping worry settling in.
"Estupido pendejo," Sebast growled, even as Ned and Robb started to drift along with the current. They should have known better; this was both boys first year in Metropolis and they had yet to see her father, the resident superhero, in person. And that was just the way she wanted to keep it, from the sounds of things. Kala snatched at Ned's shirt, and Morgan grabbed Robb's arm.
Sebast noticed that, and glared at them. "Ay, what are you, a couple jibaros? This is Metropolis, you'll see it on TV tonight. We don't wanna get any closer to a fight with someone who gets damn cars and shit thrown at him!"
Point. Speaking of which, the damn feeling wouldn't go away. It was going to be a pain to get close enough to check up, but she couldn't help worrying. Dad was more than capable of fighting his own battles, had for years, but Jason being out of commission changed up the current situation. It was likely routine, some moron in a firefly costume holding up some snooty mid-town restaurant at closing time or something, but still…
Postponing even as she gave herself an out, she reached for her phone. If all else failed, there was likely someone that would appreciate the update, even if she had to page someone to cover it. "I probably ought to call Mom, so she can get the ball rolling," Kala said, listening in out of habit. She had no business getting involved when she should be staying her nose of caped-community business all together, but this was Dad. This was different. And then her spine turned to ice as she heard her father groan in pain. The last time she'd heard him hurting like that…
It took all of thirty seconds to make up her mind, prepared or not. If Dad sounded that bad, something was wrong. This wasn't routine. Nothing about that sound was routine.
Robb was looking at Sebast, who explained, "Her mom is Lois Lane. Superman's chronicler? If she doesn't already know about this, she needs to."
Kala's mind was already in Blur-mode, ten blocks away and planning. Ignoring Robb's sudden dawning of perception, she touched Sebast's arm and kissed his cheek. "My reception is crap—get the newbies home so they don't hurt themselves. I'll call from inside the studio, okay, papi?"
Even as she said it and he nodded his answer, even as she turned to scurry inside, she was already cursing herself for an idiot for what she was about to do.
"Stay safe," Morgan called back as she disappeared.
If only.
…
He'd heard unknown assailant one too many times. "My name is Metallo!" he roared, forgetting that it was not a name he'd chosen, forgetting that he'd lost the name he'd lived under. Hell, he could almost forgive that bastard scientist—this was one hell of a rush! Kicking Superman's ass, getting beaten up in the process but he was steadily pounding that smug do-gooder face in, and it felt oh-so-righteous. He'd forgotten the money, but what did it matter? This was too much damn fun.
Superman got up again. He didn't seem to know when to quit. Metallo grinned and rolled his shoulders. He had an audience now, cops who'd figured out that firing on him was useless, and he meant to show off for them. "How come you don't just stay down?" he growled, bearing in on the hero.
Pain-glazed blue eyes locked on his, and there was ferocious determination behind them. "And let you win so you can terrorize this city? Not on my watch." With that, he broke out a new attack, his gaze flaring red. Metallo cried out and dove aside, grabbing at his metal arm. He'd actually melted part of it … and that had hurt, dammit, how did he have that kind of feeling in the damn thing?!
"Had about enough of you," he muttered, ripping a telephone pole out of the sidewalk and turning, raising it above his head. One mighty smack, and he'd smashed everyone's favorite hero like a bug. Like a damn spider.
Metallo was laughing, seeing the pale shocked looks on so many faces; even at this hour, people had gathered to watch a little Metropolis street theater. "So that's your Man of Steel, huh? Not anymore, boys and girls." He flexed the arm, streetlights gleaming on it. "I'm the new Man of Tomorrow, and—"
The next thing Metallo knew, he was sitting up in a building half a mile down the street.
…
She had to loop up, high, to get the distance needed to accelerate, and this prick was gloating. Gloating. Hell no, that didn't fly, but Kala did, and she was moving at three times the speed of sound when she hit him. The recoil from the blow staggered her, dropped her clean out of the air to tumble along the sidewalk, but the cyborg disappeared from view.
Kala swung to her feet, keenly aware that she was in plainclothes, just a domino and a hastily-utilized skull cap over her hair to hide her identity. Thank God it was dark and she was in mostly black. Much to her shock, she wobbled when she stood up, her stomach churning. Wasn't the headache back. Fear? Adrenaline? That could do it, realizing it had to be her who saved Dad's bacon, that Jase wasn't coming and couldn't come. She turned toward her father, worried and wondering why he was struggling with this one.
With a glance, she understood why she'd felt so worried. There had to be something more to what she was seeing. He was bloody and beaten, definitely not the normal way of things, but he threw off the telephone pole and stepped shakily out of the hole his body had made in the pavement. Kala saw his eyes go wide when he saw her, and he exclaimed, "You don't need to be here!"
Uh, apparently I do, from the looks of things. No time for me worrying about screwing up or you being protective. Help me here, Dad. What's going on? "Looks like you could use some backup, Superman." That was good, remembering not to call him Dad, and he blinked at her. Kala just looked at him pleading, torn.
I don't like it any more than you do, Daddy. I know the consequences if they get a clue that we're connected, but I couldn't not help. Not when this has to be magic or something else that trips you up. This guy's doing a number on you. Jason's not here, he can't be here. Just this once, let me help.
His expression changed to horror just as she felt the wave of nausea and weakness hit her. "Watch out!" he shouted, and Kala's knees went weak. Only one thing made her sick like that…
…she turned slowly, and this time it wasn't Luthor coming after her father with a chunk of kryptonite. It was some kind of cyborg, metal gleaming beneath torn skin at his shoulder, one arm completely metal. And in the center of his chest something gleamed a dull, nauseating green. The bunker, the stunning pain of that radioactive rock, all of it came back the painful life. So did the memory of how she'd survived.
Half-human, she thought, bracing herself for whatever came next. Half-immune. And the last asshole who tried to kryptonite my dad, I fucking bit him. And you're not even a tenth as scary as some of the monsters I've seen. Bring it, you bastard.
Growling, more furious than scared, Kala leapt for the sky. Her equilibrium was off, but she got enough distance to snatch up a motorcycle and pitch it at the ass. Perfect, a combination of good aim and good luck, and the bike hit him in a beautiful pile-drive. "She shoots, she scores!" Kala crowed as the sidewalk cracked beneath Metallo, and then she realized her father was swaying on his feet. God, how long had this gone on before she and the band had heard the crash? Panic choked her heart, love and fear overcoming her rage, and she dove toward him.
Speed, always, speed and flight her two most cherished powers, and before she knew she meant to do it Kala had grabbed her father around the waist and was bolting for the horizon. Not yet midnight, so her best bet was westward, chasing the sunset.
Dad tried to speak, but she held on tight and opened up a new notch of speed. He was so much heavier than Kala ever would've guessed, heavier even than Jase. The way she flew, they were over the Pacific and in the fading sun within minutes. Golden radiance chased the chill of kryptonite from her bones, and her father's wounds began to mend as she watched.
"We have to go back," he said hoarsely.
"It's okay, Daddy, we have time. We have time. I got him. You just charge," Kala soothed, trying to smile with reassurance. "He's down. We only need a few minutes, that's all. You can't fight like this."
"No," he managed to croak out. "Tried the same thing, with a truck. He got up. Kala, we have to go back."
The enormity of the mistake hit her like a ton of bricks. "Oh, shit," she whispered, miserable. At least he could fly on his own, and they both streaked back to Metropolis, Kala furious at her own oversight. Jason wouldn't have been so thoughtless. Thinking straight in a crisis had never been her strong suit; this was a perfect example. Too ruled by emotion. She shouldn't have left that guy there, who knew how many civilians he'd killed, this was why she didn't do the hero gig! This was why Jase had to get his damn powers back before she fucked up the whole legacy.
But when they stopped to hover well above the scene, the cyborg was already gone, taking his radioactive heart with him. A chance at an open-and-shut on this one, ice-cold. Kala took a deep breath, and closed her eyes in despondent frustration. And these are the reasons Jor-El was right. I'm the loose cannon. Better mostly benched. "I'm sorry, Daddy," she said in a tiny voice.
He reached out and clasped her shoulder. It hurt to look at him, but she made herself do it. It always was after she'd royally screwed-up. "Don't be. You got us both to safety, Kala. He got away, but we stopped him from hurting anyone else." His smile was full of gratitude … and worry. Kala knew why.
There was a kryptonite-based villain loose in Metropolis now. Sooner or later, there had to be a showdown.