"Are you certain you want to do this?" Shayera Hol's green eyes were flickering with unease, searching her daughter's face for even the most miniscule sign of doubt. "No one would blame you for wanting to wait."
"I would blame me," her answer came easily, even if Ski'Lira found herself unable to meet her mother's searching gaze. "I just... I need to see them for myself. Make sure that I didn't..."
Arms wrapping around her shoulder in the gentlest of embraces to avoid aggravating her injuries, Shayera let out a sigh that ruffled her daughter's hair. "If you're sure, I won't stop you. Just... be careful."
"I have been quite thoroughly instructed not to do anything that could worsen my physical condition."
"There are other ways you can still get hurt." Her mother's grip tightened by a small margin. "Promise me that if it becomes too much, you'll leave. If you can't leave on your own, call for help."
"But I'm the one that's going to do the apologizing for what I did to them."
"Yes, but none of them are my daughter." Drawing back, Shayera kept her hands on her younger counterpart's shoulders. "Promise me, Ski'Lira."
"But I-"
"No," removing her hands from her shoulders, Shayera's well-calloused hands shifted to frame Ski'Lira's face, forcing her to meet her emerald stare. "I will not allow you to disparage yourself further, nor will I tolerate you taking all of the blame for this. As I, and your father, and our kast has told you, this was not your fault. So promise me that if you need to, you will come home.
"... I promise."
H
MOUNT JUSTICE
OCTOBER 23RD, 2010
17:21 EDT
The relatively short walk from the Zeta Tube to the kitchen felt like the longest journey Ski'Lira had made in her sixteen years of life. Partially it was from the near-constant ache and burn of her muscles, cracked and broken bones, and the heavily stitched lacerations hiding under her bandaged arms, but the ever-present bite of pain was easy to ignore.
It was the dread that made every foot feel like a mile.
This was the quietest she'd ever heard this place. Usually by now, she'd be able to pick up on the snatches of chatter or a low hum from the television or a radio. But there was nothing, only the steady beating of hearts and the occasional quiet shuffle or shift. A heavy scent of sugar and pastry hung in the air, M'Gann was likely the culprit, as baking was one of her primary methods of stress relief.
Stress that she had... greatly contributed to.
Ski'Lira ended up just sort of... hovering in the doorway, unwilling to break the fragile silence. The first person she ended up making eye contact with was Martian Manhunter, who gave her the slightest of head nods. The nonverbal acknowledgement of her presence was greatly appreciated.
Naturally, that attempt was made moot as Captain Marvel also noticed her.
"Hawkgirl, oh my gosh!" Eyes wide, he practically ran to stand in front of her. "You look terrible! I meant, um... Not terrible terrible, like... injured terrible! Do you need to sit down?"
"I'm fine." She winced at how raspy her voice still was.
Ski'Lira had been informed that all the damage from her vocal cords was from near-continuous screaming. The resulting wince from how rough her voice sounded was probably not as subtly as Marvel thought it had been.
Captain Marvel's gaze flickered uneasily between her and the rest of the Team, who had either been watching the exchange in judgemental silence or outright ignoring her presence. Taking a few steps back, the caped hero rubbed at the back of his head. "Right... Right... Sure... I'll just be... over here, if you need anything."
Maintaining her neutral expression, Ski'Lira limped her way across the room. It was impossible to miss the sudden tension in Kaldur and Conner's shoulders, the way that M'Gann stopped mid-stir, the clenching of Wally's fists and the sharp attention from Robin and Artemis.
They were primed to act, it felt akin to walking into a lion's den and trying to abscond with one of the cubs.
Her lungs briefly seized in her chest and nearly caused a coughing fit, but she forced herself to keep going, careful to maintain a healthy distance between herself and the Martian. "M'Gann, I... I came here to apologize for... I... Are you... okay?"
"Is she okay?" Artemis broke first, unsurprising as she was the one who tended to speak her mind most often, and loudest. "Are you serious?! You tried to strangle her!"
"I'm not denying that, I'm just... I wasn't... I didn't mean to.." Ski'Lira took a step forwards, fully intending to drop to her knees and bare the back of her neck before the one she'd harmed as a show of regret, apology, and humility.
M'Gann's instinctive flinch away from her froze the Thanagarian in her tracks.
In a blink, Conner was between her and his girlfriend, staring her down with an expression she'd only seen once before... When they'd first met at CADMUS and he was trying to test if he possessed laser vision.
"An apology isn't going to cut it. Not this time." The Kryptonian's voice was low. "What happened to 'not taking your anger out on the Team', huh? Or does that only apply to me?"
It was Ski'Lira's turn to stagger back.
At any other time, one of the currently present members of the League would have intervened as hostilities worsened. But each of them had been sworn to non-interference until Hawkgirl had a chance to apologize and explain the situation herself.
This was Hawkgirl's mess to fix, not theirs.
"Look," she raised her voice as loud as she could manage without further harming her throat. "I came here to give M'Gann my apology, I don't care if you accept it or not, I'm not looking for forgiveness."
"So you don't regret it?" Wally's usually jovial face was twisted with anger and distaste. "M'Gann screwed up, okay? We know that, but none of us blame her for it. It was an accident! You had no right to do what you did, no matter how you felt about it!"
"That is not-"
"When will you get it through your thick, bird-brained skull?" His interruption was swift and harsh. "We're not on Thanagar! Here on Earth, we don't try to kill our friends for making a mistake!"
Teeth gritting, Ski'Lira's jaw began to ache as she scrambled to find something, anything to say in her defense... but no words would come. Breath tightening in her chest and the burn of shamed tears in her eyes, she turned around and left the room as fast as her bruised body would allow.
H
Her feet carried her unconsciously towards the training room. Often she had retreated here to work off mounting aggression in a safe and healthy manner, and that instinct seemed to have kicked in once again. She found herself standing before a punching bag, one of the heavy duty ones designated specifically for her by its bright yellow cover.
It was only a last second reminder, a flash of white gauze wrapped around her knuckles, that kept her from slamming already broken fingers into the target and mangling the hand further. Retreating from the bag before she could succumb to the need to hit something despite literal broken bones, she paced around restlessly before falling heavily onto a wooden bench.
That had... not gone as well as she hoped. How was it that Ski'Lira could string together words in the heat of battle and form an insult so harsh it could stop a man in his tracks, but when she had to explain her personal feelings, make a real apology for her actions, everything came out disjointed and wrong.
This was just like the argument with Roy all over again. She hadn't been able to voice what she really meant then either, and she had lost her best friend for it.
Though instead of just one relationship destroyed, it was every single friend that she had left.
The sharp heat of her temper left her in a rush, shoulders physically sagging with the change in mood. Wings drooping, the tips of her ragged and unkempt feathers brushed the concrete floor. Perhaps she had been operating under too many assumptions. Maybe it was just the painkillers dulling her logic, but she had thought for sure that they knew her well enough to just... know that she wouldn't ever do something like this willingly.
But apparently she was wrong.
Okay, she could do this. She just had to think through exactly what she wanted to say, something she probably should have done the first time around. If she had a solid script in mind instead of improvising...
As she was musing that thought, the telltale scent of seawater hit her olfactory senses. Her head snapped up to see Kaldur standing a few feet away, having somehow snuck up on her. He may have borne a concerned expression, but she didn't buy it for a second.
"No need to look at me like that," she muttered. "I know you're mad at me too, so you don't need to pretend otherwise."
"I am allowed to experience multiple emotions at once. I am angry at you, yes, but I cannot help the part of me that is also worried for your wellbeing." Cautiously, he sat down on the bench, leaving a few feet of space between them where before he would have happily sat shoulder to shoulder. "I have never seen you so... injured."
"Yeah, well..." her broken fingers flexed under their bindings and splints. She had no memory of it, but apparently she had made a valiant attempt to punch and rip her way through a Green Lantern's construct. Naturally, she had inflicted far more damage to herself than a construct of will. "Are you here to lecture me?"
"I do not think you would take it well if I attempted to do so."
"You're probably right about that."
"As it is, I wished to..." Kaldur paused. "I believe that this confrontation was too soon."
"Oh, don't you start too." Huffing, she started to pick at the edges of the gauze encircling her forearm. "I've already heard enough from my mother. Shouldn't I be able to decide for myself when I want to apologize?"
"You misunderstand. It has very little to do with your feelings." He stood up then, any trace of concern gone and replaced with a deep frown. "Did you not consider that we would not be ready to see you?"
"But I needed to!" Ski'Lira insisted, standing up quickly (far too quickly, dots encroaching on the corners of her vision, knees audibly popping) so that she was face to face with him, rather than being looked down on.
"I will be honest with you, because you deserve at least that much for all we have been through. I am not ready to forgive you for what you have done, nor am I certain I will. The Team feels the same."
"I already said I wasn't asking for forgiveness!" She shouted, voice cracking halfway through. A short coughing jag wracked her frame, but the moment it was done she kept going. "But I... I am not going to sit idly by and just... allow you all to... to not even consider my side of the situation! Or am I past that?! Have I always just been some... some bloodthirsty winged monster to you?!"
"Perhaps this discussion should wait until you have... cooled down, as it were. Your temper has already risked the life of a teammate, nay, a friend once before."
His reprimand felt less like a verbal chastisement and more like a physical punch to the chest. That might have been preferable really, to his complete and utter disappointment in her.
If not even Kaldur couldn't tell that there was something amiss with her behavior...
Maybe they weren't as good of friends as she had thought, her and her kast. Maybe they hadn't been a kast at all, and it had just been... wishful thinking on her part.
She was struck with a moment of clarity, mostly thanks to an echo in the back of her head that sounded a lot like her da'mi. There was nothing keeping her here. "You're right."
He cocked an eyebrow at her in question, silently urging her to continue.
"Maybe it would be better if I left. Put myself on suspension from the Team."
Pursing his lips, he cocked his head to the side. "If that is what you think is best."
"No, it's not." What she thought was best certainly didn't matter anymore. "I was a fool for thinking that anything I could say could possibly... I'm... I'm going home."
"Hawkgirl," he made an attempt to grab her arm as she walked past, but she shook him off. "Maybe, with time-"
"I don't want to hear it." She had zero interest in his too-hopeful platitudes.
Taking herself out of the equation was the only way she could think of to amend for her transgressions. The suspension may be temporary, but she'd leave the Team's roster entirely if she had to.
It wasn't until she was standing before the Zeta Tube, preparing to step through and go home, that she realized she was crying.
Her journey home was interrupted, as the Zeta whirred to life of its own volition.
"Recognized: Batman, 02"
Shuffling off to the side, she gave the man plenty of room to walk past her, no doubt on his way to check on the Team still in the Lounge, and still unnaturally quiet. But instead, he just... stood in front of her.
"Did you have the chance to talk to them?" He asked.
The grin she shot him in response had no humor in it. "I wasn't really given much of a chance. You know, it's good I ran into you, saves Aqualad from having to tell you."
His mouth downturned ever so slightly, "Tell me what?"
"I'm suspending myself from the Team for the foreseeable future. Maybe forever, who knows?"
From the lack of immediate response, Batman seemed to be at a loss for words. "Are you certain?"
"I think it's best if I just... stay away for a while."
"Hawkgirl..." He began to argue. "What happened was not your fault."
"No matter how many times you, or my parents, or the other Leaguers say it... It really doesn't make me feel any more inclined to believe it. M'Gann flinched from me, like... Like I was going to hurt her again."
For a long few seconds, he just stared down at her, before giving the slightest of nods. "Hawkgirl, your voluntary, temporary suspension has been approved. You will be contacted only in case of emergency."
"Understood."
"And one more thing," she stopped mid-step, facing him again. "Tell your parents to expect a call."
H
Wrapping her jacket a little tighter around her body to ward off the rain, Ski'Lira pressed the intercom button perched on a stone column that contributed to the wrought iron gate looming above her. A gust of wind tugged at her ponytail, dislodging a few chunks of brown hair and making look even more sodden and bedraggled. Just as she was about to press the button again (or leave entirely and call another cab to take her back into the city), the intercom crackled into life.
"Please identify yourself and state your purpose." The voice on the other end was, in two words, quintessentially British.
"My name is Skylar Hall," she answered. "I'm... I was asked to come here?"
There was no reply for a solid thirty seconds until a clanging noise heralded the unlatching of the metal gate, which swung upon of its own accord.
Tapping the intercom button again, she said a quick "Thank you," before starting her trek forward.
As she trudged up the long and winding driveway, she couldn't help but appreciate the beautiful picture that Wayne Manor made, silhouetted on the hill, windows glowing softly from the lights within and cutting through the sheet of rain.
When she made it to the front door, it was already ajar, revealing an older, distinguished looking gentleman in a perfectly tailored black suit. From description alone, she could only assume this was Alfred Pennyworth, whose praises Dick had sung on multiple occasions. "Ms. Hall, Master Bruce was expecting your arrival, though I believe Master Richard is... not."
"Yeah, that makes sense."
The butler graciously stepped aside, allowing her entry into the welcoming warmth and shelter from the rain. From seemingly nowhere, he flourished a plush towel in her direction, and she took it with a muttered thanks.
Tugging her hair out of its sodden braid, she did a quick rubdown before throwing it back up into a sloppy bun that rested at the base of her neck.
"I'll take your jacket and put it in the dryer for you, Miss Hall." Alfred took the towel back, and long with her waterlogged jacket. "Master Bruce and Master Richard are in the dining room at the moment, finishing up their evening meal. This way, if you please."
When Batman had told her to relay to her parents to expect a call, she didn't know what she'd expected, but a direct invitation to Wayne Manor that evening was not it.
On another day, she would have taken the time to admire the old paintings lining the walls, the disgustingly expensive vases, and the suits of medieval armor that she caught glimpses of every so often. But instead, her attention was glued to her kind guide's back as Alfred led her deeper into the manor.
The scent of a home cooked meal, some kind of meat and a vegetable she couldn't quite place swamped her nose, forcing an audible growl from her stomach that she hoped wasn't overheard.
Before she knew it, she was in the dining room. It was just as ostentatious as she expected, but Bruce and Dick were both sitting at one of the very ends with minimal plateware and silverware.
"Who was at the door, Alfie?" The question had scarcely left Dick's mouth before it dropped open with shock, morphing into a displeased frown. "What is she doing here?"
"At the moment, she is a guest." Alfred answered easily, giving Bruce a meaningful tilt of his head. "Miss Hall, if you would like, I will gladly fix you up a plate before tending to the laundry."
"I uh... Thank you for the offer, but I can't." She apologized, feeling legitimately terrible at turning down the genuine offer. "I'm on a strict diet until... further notice, I guess."\
"See? She doesn't want dinner, so she can go." Robin sneered at her.
"Dick, a word?" Standing up from the table, Bruce was giving his ward a meaningful look, striding out of the room. Dick huffed, shooting the 'guest' one last glare before following his guardian.
That left the Thanagarian awkwardly standing in the dining room, unsure what to do with herself.
"Pardon, Miss Hall, but is there anything I can provide? Some water, perhaps?"
"That... that would be nice of you, Mr. Pennyworth."
"I will be but a few moments," he disappeared through a nearby door.
When he reemerged a few minutes later, her jacket and the towel were missing, and he had a glass of water brimming with ice cubes in hand.
"Thank you, Mr. Pennyworth." Taking the glass carefully, she relished the grounding chill on her fingertips. The small sip she took soothed her ravaged throat.
"Perhaps you would like to take a seat?" Alfred gestured towards the nearest dining chair, going so far as to pull the chair away from the table for her.
After a brief moment of internal debate, she sat in the offered seat, poking at the cubes floating at the top of her glass, careful to keep the bandaging from getting wet. To her surprise, the old butler remained where he was, his presence strangely reassuring.
"I know it is not under the... most ideal of circumstances, but it is still a pleasure to have you visit the manor, Miss Hall."
Humming, Ski'Lira took another sip before daring to speak. "It's nice. The... manor, not the... situation. I'd like to hear more about it's history sometime, if... that's okay?"
"It would be an honor to do so. Not many express interest in the stories the manor holds, as they are rather more occupied with its residents."
"Well, I've always been better at understanding things than people. Mostly weaponry."
"We all have our strengths and weaknesses, Miss Hall." Snagging the nearest chair, he took a seat next to her. "But there is much more to you than that, I believe. If I remember correctly, you work with your parents at the museum, do you not?"
"I don't really do much. I help with inventory, and... sometimes they let me help with the easier restoration projects, you know, the stuff that doesn't require a college degree."
"That sounds fascinating. Have you been working on anything recently?"
Narrowing her blue eyes, she examined his polite smile. "I see what you're doing."
"I beg your pardon, Miss Hall, but I don't understand your insinuation." There was a telling glint in his eye, betraying that he knew full well exactly what he was doing (and had no remorse about it).
"You're keeping me calm so I don't bolt while Bat- Bruce," she corrected herself. It was still so weird having full permission and encouragement to refer to the Dark Knight by his real first name. "While he tries to convince Dick to talk to me."
"You are quite astute, Miss Hall. Tell me, is it working?"
"... Yes."
"Very good. But I was not showing any false interest, I am intrigued to hear of the work the museum is doing."
To be honest, most of her 'restoration' work was cursory dusting and cleanings of the... sturdier artifacts, in the Stonechat Museuem's possession. Especially the ones with magical properties that required handling with Nth metal gauntlets. "I helped catalogue the tesserae of a mosaic before it was repatriated to Venice. It was tedious, but... satisfying."
"It must have taken some time."
"About a week or two," she shrugged.
It was while she was showing him a picture of the finished product (taken just after the actual in-house restoration artist fully affixed the tesserae and it was ready to be shipped back home), that Bruce and Dick made their return.
Clearing his throat, Bruce gave his ward one final look before addressing Skylar. "Why don't you two head upstairs to Dick's room? I think you two have a lot to talk about."
She paused after standing, not really wanting to have this conversation, but knowing it would have to happen. "Thank you for keeping me company, Mr. Pennyworth."
Ski'Lira trailed after the dead silent Boy Wonder as he led the way up the stairs.
She didn't even have time to register that his bedroom was the size of her family home's living room before he was pointing wordlessly to the bed, where she obediently perched on the edge.
Dick positioned himself before her, meaning they were at level. "Talk." His tone left no room for further protest or delay, arms crossed and crystal blue eyes hard.
Ski'Lira chewed on her lip, regretting it as she remembered the prominent split marring the skin. "I... don't know where to start?"
"How about why you tried to kill M'Gann?!"
"It... It wasn't a conscious choice on my part." It was only now, staring down at her hands, that she realized she was still holding onto her glass of water, now mostly containing melting ice cubes. This was slightly fortuitous, as holding onto it was keeping her from picking at her bandages again. "I didn't choose to attack her. I was... angry. At her. And I sort of... lost myself."
The scoff of disgust from her paltry answer made her wince. "So you're saying, you what, went all berzerker on us? Just because she did something that upset you?"
"Sort of...?" That did nothing to assuage his steadily growing irritation.
Dick started to pace back and forth, hands tangling into his hair and tugging at the strands. "B told me I needed to hear you out, but you're making it really difficult."
"I'm trying!" She insisted, a little frantic. "This... It's not easy to explain to a Terran! Let alone in your language."
The harsh reminder that Ski'Lira was very much not human seemed to knock something loose in his mental process, jarring him at least enough that it stopped his pacing. "Can you try?"
"I am. Just... give me a minute?"
For a solid two minutes, the pair remained in an uneasy silence, as the younger provided her with the time requested to figure out a logical way to explain all of this in a way a human could conceive. An idea came to her, something that would likely appeal to Robin's detective instincts. "When a human is threatened with bodily harm, what happens? Anatomically, I mean."
"What are you-?"
She cut his protest off. "Humor me. Please."
Pursing his lips, he started to provide the answer she was leading him towards. "The sympathetic nervous system activates, releasing cortisol and adrenaline, pushing the body into fight or flight mode. And that's just the basics."
"Now, imagine a species that exists in a near constant state of high awareness, like Thanagarians. Engaging in active combat, where bodily harm is threatened near continuously over an extended period of time. What do you think would happen?"
"Well, the more the body would produce adrenaline, the more it would get used to it... So some kind of... evolutionary response?" At her encouraging nod, he continued. "Danger is a standard state of normalcy, so a permanent hormonal adjustment? A constant flood of adrenaline?"
"Close, Thangarians possess a much higher baseline of adrenaline in our systems than humans, so our body doesn't require stimuli to trigger production, it's just always there, but we do have the ability to produce more if the situation requires. It also means we don't experience adrenaline crashes and most stressors don't register to us, at least not physically."
The prospect of the biological mystery she was laying out was apparently enough to make some of Dick's lingering ire fade, in the face of a new puzzle. "Okay, I think I'm following. You're basically saying that Thanagarians don't have the same biological panic responses that humans do, because you evolved past needing specific triggers. So... That... And feel free to stop me if I'm making too much of a leap, but only really bad stuff, like say... being stuck in an enclosed space when your species is genetically predisposed to claustrophobia would trigger a panic attack, but being shot wouldn't."
Relieved that he was coming to understand, at least in part, Ski'Lira nodded. "That's the basics. Now there's the... complicated part. Do you remember something I told you and the rest of the Team before? When I said Thanagarians are specifically evolved for war? Bodies and minds alike."
Based on the spark in his eyes, he recalled that moment. "You told us that when we went after the Reds, right?"
"Good, you do remember." Now she had to take a second to steel herself, because this was where things would get... tricky. "When a Thanagarian is put into a situation where it is... very clear that they most likely will not survive, sometimes it provokes an... extreme reaction. The individual is pushed to absolute physical limits, while the brain shuts down higher processes and regresses fully into instinct. It's... a last ditch attempt to either preserve their own life, protect their kast, take down as many enemies as possible before they go down, or any combination of the three."
Mouth agape, Dick's voice sounded the least vitriolic it had since they'd started this conversation. "That's what happened to you, isn't it? But... But that doesn't explain why you would attack M'Gann, you've said before that we're all part of your... kast thing."
"I couldn't believe it either." Ski'Lira admitted. "J'onn theorized that because my mind was... connected to hers before I, you know... it sort of... tagged her as a threat along with the fake invaders, since she was the only actually harming us, our real selves. So when I came out of the simulation, the only enemy I could see was... her."
He went quiet then, eyes locked on the wall behind her and fingers worrying at the edges of his shirt sleeves, which he'd yanked down around his hands.
Taking the opportunity the lull in his questions gave her, she barrelled forward with her long winded explanation. "We call it the Movr Sifastarr, the "Last Fury" in English, or at least the closest possible translation. Every Thanagarian has about a ten percent chance of succumbing to it during adulthood. The number of those that reach it before final maturation, teenagers, is... significantly lower."
"A statistical anomaly?" He was starting to sound distinctly off, still not making eye contact.
Placing her ice water cup on the nightstand, she leaned back carefully on her hands to lounge a little further on the bed, head tilted towards the ceiling. The relaxed position alleviated some of the strain on her back. "Thankfully, it's impossible to achieve before first molting, so that's at least one thing my people never have to-"
"You really don't think this is something we should have been told earlier?!" Robin's sudden shout snapped her line of sight back to him, as he resumed his frenetic pacing.
She had expected that question, "It's... sort of taboo, to speak with non-Thanagarians about it. If an enemy learned about it and figured out a way to trigger it manually, it could mean the end of my people. Since I've declared you my kast, technically there's an exception, but it's still discouraged. My parents told the League, except for the Green Lanterns, but that's because they pretty much know everything."
"So you could have told us, but you didn't?"
"I almost did, once. But... Well, you were all pretty upset already and I didn't want to add to it. Plus, Zatanna was with us."
"The sacrifice conversation? Yeah, I can't see that having gone over too well." He let out a long sigh, more akin to a steadily deflating balloon than a person. "Okay, this... this is definitely as far from whelmed as you can get. Be honest with me, could this happen again?"
"No," her answer was vehement, knowing it to be indisputable fact. "There have only been two recorded instances of an individual suffering two Movr Sifastarr in the entirety of our species' history. And both were well-documented genetic anomalies. This won't happen to me again."
"I guess the name 'Last Fury' is accurate. It seems a little... I mean, it's horrible, but I would have thought your people would be all for a battle rage trump card."
Her face gave the most minute of twitches, and she internally cursed herself for failing at maintaining a poker face now of all times. "What? What was that?" Robin demanded. "... You're leaving something out, aren't you?"
"All Thanagarian children are told about the Last Fury shortly after first molt, so they can be prepared in the rare case it happens to them, or more commonly, seeing it happen to another." This was turning into a hell of a lecture about the finer points of Thanagarian biology. She hadn't had to be so detailed about her own inner workings since the mandatory first aid course for the Team she'd insisted on.
"I'll be blunt," Ski'Lira braced herself for dropping the last piece of information she'd been withholding. "There's a thirty percent chance that someone under the Movr Sifastarr is locked permanently into that state. By Thanagarian law, those unable to regain their sense of self are to be... executed. For the safety of others and for their own honor. The longer the rage lasts, the less they are able to differentiate between friend and foe, until they see everyone before them as an enemy, even the most innocent parties. During times of peace, they are granted quick and painless deaths, while in times of war, they are herded towards enemy forces so they may die in glory."
Face gone pale, eyes wavering with disbelief, Dick took a step towards her, closing the gap between them ever so slightly. "... Please tell me this is one of those times where you make up stuff about Thanagar to mess with me?"
All she could give him was a wordless shake of her head.
Crossing the last of the space, Dick dropped down heavily to sit next to her on the bed, the only points of contact from the minute brushing of shoulders and the ginger touches of her feathers on his back. "... You could have died. That... doesn't that scare you?"
Being so upfront about her feelings was an unusual feeling, but it was... cathartic. "My entire life I've been raised waiting for the inevitable end. Thanagarians rarely die of old age, we fall. And... I almost fell for no reason. That's what scares me." Feeling his eyes on her, she turned to face him. "What?"
"Nothing, it's just..." the smallest of wry smiles had made its way onto his face, reverting to levity (his typical response to stress). "I've never seen you so emotional before."
"I am allowed to be."
"Of course you are, you just don't... partake. Except for anger, you partake in that a lot."
"Thanks," she deadpanned, leveling him with an unimpressed stare.
To his credit, he grimaced as he realized what he'd just said and how poorly timed the comment had been. "Sorry, that was... a little too soon. I just meant..." With every pass his fingers made through his hair, it turned into even more of an untameable birdnest. "After we lost Nelson, and during the simulation when we truly thought everyone we knew and loved was dead, you were so... stoic. The closest you've gotten was after the androids attacked the mountain, but even after literally passing out from a panic attack, you... You were still so calm and strong."
She leaned over to press a little harder into his shoulder. "I don't really feel like being strong right now."
"That doesn't sound very Thanagarian of you." His smile broadened into a genuine thing, making her believe for the first time that maybe her friendship with him wasn't irreparably broken. "But that's okay, if you don't feel like being strong. I, um... This is a lot to process and... I think I might need a bit to... think this all over."
Ski'Lira jerked her thumb towards the closed door, "Do you want me to leave?" If he asked it of her, she would happily join Alfred downstairs and pester him for some stories. Or she would just go home if a few minutes wasn't long enough.
"No, no, you don't have to do that." His insistence surprised her. "Just... I'm just gonna be quiet for a while so I can think. Feel free to borrow a book or something."
As he flopped backwards onto the bed and closed his eyes to ponder this rapid change in situation, Ski'Lira dug her phone from her pocket, unlocking it so she could answer the waiting text from her father.
Ta'me: How's it going?
Sky: ... better than I expected
Sky: I think he understands now?
Sky: Alfred is really nice
Ta'me: Alfred is the best, no arguments there. Think you'll be heading home soon?
Sky: I don't know. We're not done talking yet.
Ta'me: Shoot me a message when you're ready to go, I'll head to the manor. Love you, fledgeling
Sky: Love you too
As Dick was still locked in his thoughts, she pulled up her eBook of an old favorite, The Fellowship of the Ring, picking up where she'd left off last.
Recalling her glass of ice, which had melted into liquid by now, she retrieved it from the nightstand and drained it in one go, setting it back on the sturdy surface. Once she shifted back into place to resume her reading, Dick shuffled over so that his back was pressed to her hip, a comforting point of contact they both sorely needed.
The amount of time that passed was unclear, engrossed as she was in the written word, but eventually Dick began to sit up. "I feel like a bit of a well, a dick for not asking earlier, but are you... you know, okay? Physically, I mean. Because obviously mentally..."
Shutting off her phone's screen and tossing it onto the bedspread, she replied, "My injuries will heal, no lasting damage."
"You sure? Usually by now you'd look at least relatively fine." He reminded her. "How'd they happen, anyway?"
"Broken fingers from trying to punch through Hal's constructs," she held up said hand for emphasis. "Deep bruising from struggling in various holds, lacerations on my arms from attempts to sedate me which went... poorly. Two dislocated ribs, three broken toes, and a sprained ankle."
"All that bandaging for some needle scratching?" He peered at the swatch of white gauze spanning from her forearms to her biceps.
"I was very uncooperative." She reminded him. From what she'd been told, J'onn literally had to hold her down with his telekinesis along with Hal's construct restraints so that they could stick her without thrashing causing further damage. "My body's natural healing rate is... delayed, for the time being."
"So this whole... bloody fury mode has side effects?"
She started ticking off items on the mental list, tapping one of her unbroken fingers on her leg for emphasis. "Slowed healing, muscle pain and fatigue, general fatigue, and my internal systems are so screwed up right now I'm limited to a diet of water, electrolytes, and unseasoned meat until I stabilize. Oh, and the minor memory loss." Seeing his panic before it could go rampant, she hastened to explain. "Just the memory of the... training exercise, and attacking M'Gann and the League. There's just one big blank between assuring Wally it was okay to be nervous about the test and waking up in a hospital bed."
"And none of that's... permanent?"
"Only the missing memory. There was a chance I would remember it all. My father claims it is a blessing, considering the circumstances."
"I think I agree with your dad on that one, it was pretty traumatic. Not just what happened afterward." The slightly wounded noise he made caused her protective instincts to flair. Clarity struck, as she was reminded that the entire Team had just undergone living a no-win scenario. "Part of me wishes that I had forgotten it too."
So far, they'd addressed Ski'Lira's issues thoroughly enough that it was far past time to prompt Dick into revealing some of his.
J'onn had given her a brief, objective overview of the simulation and how it had spiraled, which meant she had a fairly solid idea of what Robin's internal struggles were at the moment.
Nudging her shoulder a little harder into his, she forcibly acquired his attention. "I know you all talked to Black Canary today about-"
Dick's cheeks flushed, "I don't want to talk about it. Not... not yet, at least. I'm too emotionally drained trying to wrap my head around all of... yeah."
She could understand that, and dropped the subject entirely. "Alright. I... hope that you will talk to me about it... whenever you're ready." A thought struck her then. Maybe it was just because he didn't want to talk to her specifically. She'd assumed that things between them were relatively okay, but maybe they weren't. Instead of spiraling into a pit of speculation, she opted for her trademark straightforwardness. "Dick, you... Are you still angry with me? For what I did?"
"... No. I'm not. I don't think I could bring myself to, knowing what... And once we explain, I'm sure the others-" A grimace on her part made him stop. "What, what was with the face?"
"I can't ask for you to help. This is a problem I have to handle on my own. It won't get fixed, truly fixed if... if you're doing half of the work for me."
He blinked at her, dumbfounded as if her hair had just turned neon pink. "... That's dumb. You're dumb. I'm not just going to sit idly by and let them think that you-"
"I have the same deal with the League." They were destined to keep interrupting each other today, but it stopped the tirade short. "In the ideal situation, my apology earlier would have been taken at face value, purely on merit of my previous actions prior to the... Incident. I'd never have to explain the Movr Sifastarr to any of you. I didn't... I don't want M'Gann to know that-"
"That she almost killed you twice over?"
Her jaw clenched, "Yes. That. I don't blame her it, it was an accident. But I know she won't see it that way, considering how much fault she feels already. But none of them wanted to hear me out, and this has become a matter of trust, which is incredibly important when you're potentially placing your life in a teammate's hands. I have to earn the trust back myself, because only then it will be genuine. And if that trust is lost forever, then my leave from the Team will turn from temporary to permanent."
She couldn't help but roll her eyes at herself, "Why do the words come so easily now? Where was this ability when I needed it earlier?"
"Hey, you were probably panicking, it's understandable." A commiserating pat was laid on her forearm, careful to avoid the parts where the bandaging was thickest. "For the record, I still think your decision is dumb, but... I'll support you. Just say the word and I'll be there to back you up, but until then, I'll stay quiet. Reluctantly. Very reluctantly."
"Thank you, Dick... You're... you're a very good friend. Better than I deserve."
That earned her a trademark snort as he abruptly rolled forwards, sliding into an easy handstand and gracefully flipping to his feet. "Being friends isn't about deserving anything, you dummy. You think you can get rid of me so easily?"
"Not until now, I didn't."
"Well, that's your mistake. You're stuck with me, so get used to it." Stretching his arms above his head, he let out another sigh, though this one felt more... at ease. "I don't know about you but I think I've had enough serious conversations for one day... Wanna go see the animatronic T-Rex in the Batcave?"
"... I have never wanted anything more in my life."
Downstairs in the kitchen, Bruce was making use of the expansive table to look over some paperwork for Wayne Enterprises. His phone was pressed between his ear and shoulder as he sorted through the piles of paper and manila folders. "They've been quiet, which I'm taking as a positive sign."
"She keeps saying she's doing okay, but..." Carter's frustrated exhale was audible. "It's been a rough few days. I can't help but be concerned she's lying to make us feel better."
"It's a possibility." Bruce admitted. "But I'd have some faith in her. And in Dick."
"Right. I didn't mean to imply anything about the kid, you know. He's good."
"They're all good kids." Bruce corrected, moving a three inch stack of papers off the side, all newly signed and ready for submission. "They've never dealt with a situation like this before. It's understandable they don't know how to deal with it properly."
"When did you get so wise when it comes to teenagers?"
"I didn't. Just quoting Dinah."
That earned him a slight chuckle from the other man. "Fair enough. Do you think she'd be willing to-"
"Oh, no fair!" Ski'Lira's raspy warble diverted all of Bruce's attention. "I'm injured!"
"Sounds like an excuse to me!" Dick's signature cackle echoed through the empty quiet of the Manor. "Just slide down!"
Rising from his seat, Bruce managed to make it just in time to see Dick goading Skylar at the base of the stairs, where he was attempting to coerce her into sliding down the well-polished banister. The older girl complied after further jeering, sliding down and just barely managing to catch herself at the bottom. Before she could wobble too badly, Dick propped her up until she regained her balance.
Only once she was steady did he set out at a dead sprint, his friend following close behind. Smiles were on both faces, and they didn't so much as break pace when they spotted their audience.
"I'm showing Skylar the dinosaur in the Batcave!" The black-haired teen threw over his shoulder, not looking for permission.
"Bruce? Bruce, what's going on?" Carter asked insistently, his sensitive hearing no doubt picking up on the commotion. "Did something happen?"
"Just the kids being kids." Bruce answered, a grin of his own on his face. "I think they're going to be fine."