Many thanks to Becca Catherine for the wonderful moral -- and technical -- support, and to everyone on JLU for making me feel normal by comparison. :D
This story has been "updated" as of 2/6/05
Part I
"Death resembles a prophet who is without honor in his own land or a poet who is a stranger among his people."
"... and appropriately, the service was held at night. Commissioner Gordon gave the eulogy, where he called Batman "Gotham City's greatest hero" and said that "he was a force for justice when the long arm of the law proved too short". You may recall that Gordon was often criticized for excessive reliance on the vigilante, but tonight he gave no apologies and even referred to Batman as a friend.
"The memorial was open to the public, yet few prominent citizens made an appearance. Philanthropist Bruce Wayne released a videotaped statement mourning Batman's death in... his own way, calling him a "necessary evil" and expressing assurance that the city will "remain calm in the face of this loss". However, in contrast to this position, Mr. Wayne has reportedly left Gotham for the remainder of the month.
"Also in attendance were the remaining members of the Justice League, the famous group of superheroes whom Batman worked with on occasion. All five declined to speak to us publicly, but no such reluctance is expected at tomorrow morning's ceremony, and for more on that story we'll take you to Snapper Carr in Metropolis. Snapper?"
"Thanks, Summer. I'm here at the First Church of Metropolis where, more than six hours before the ceremony is slated to be held, crowds are starting to gather despite the foul weather. The eulogy is slated to be delivered by none other than the Man of Steel himself, and we also expect a rare contingent to arrive from the island of Themyscira. It is rumored that Queen Hippolyta herself may attend the service in honor of her daughter.
"Our sources in the D.A.'s office tell us that the suspects are still being held in an undisclosed but, quote, "perfectly secure" facilities until –"
"Turn it off."
"-- their arraignment. Already several individuals have stepped forward offering legal counsel to the villain known as Toyman, many known to hail from Gotham. One such attorney, Mr. Edw--"
"Turn it off."
Flash jumped in his seat and leaned forward to switch off the offending monitor. The news channel's split-screen, framing Summer Gleeson and Snapper Carr's too-serious faces, faded into darkness.
He turned to look at Superman, his eyes narrowed into venomous slits. "Can you believe that? They made it sound like no one was even there tonight! We were there talking to people for hours afterwards... people he saved! Men and women and kids... that old British guy was too choked up to talk! And they act like none of it matters because Bruce Wayne didn't feel like showing up. And all that about his not being a real member of the League? He was there that night, wasn't he; right along side of the rest of us... he was there."
The kid's anger was palpable and not a little unsettling. Clark had never seen Flash like this – easygoing, lighthearted Flash – but then again, there had never been a time like this. Not before.
He answered in a quiet voice. "Yes. He was there."
Flash scowled and pushed himself violently back into the seat, crossing his arms and muttering darkly about "'necessary evil'... I'll 'necessary evil' him..."
Clark simply shook his head.
Why hadn't he brought this up with Bruce before? It would have been a simple enough question to ask. Easy enough to broach the topic. "Say, if anything happens to me, don't spill the beans about Superman and Clark Kent being the same person, hmm? For my family's sake. And what about you? You're mortal, after all. No powers. No especially advanced technology. You're the most likely of any of us to go down in battle. Do you ever want it revealed to the world that Batman was actually Bruce Wayne?"
Yeah. No wonder he hadn't brought it up. Besides the fact that they all behaved as though they were immortal – even the ones who weren't – Bruce wouldn't have appreciated the question. He wouldn't have responded.
And his answer was clear enough already, wasn't it? If he had wanted people to know, that videotaped statement would have relayed a very different message. And Alfred – or Dick, or Barbara, or whoever it was – wouldn't have sent out that rumor that Mr. Wayne was leaving the area.
But what about the rest of them? It seemed wrong not to tell. It was an almost physical pain to keep the secret from his friends... the friends he had left.
Diana had known; he was sure of it. If she was here... but she wasn't.
She wasn't.
Clark closed his eyes. When he opened them, Flash had stopped his mumbling. He was staring. At him.
"Get some rest," Clark told the younger man, trying to sound less emotionally exhausted and more authoritative. "We need to be in Metropolis for sunrise tomorrow. I'll take over here."
Looking reluctant, Flash pushed himself out of the chair. Clark had never seen him move so slowly. "Are you sure you don't want some company?" The Watchtower was empty, save the two of them; Lantern, J'onn and Hawkgirl were in Gotham with Nightwing, Robin and Batgirl, doing what they could to put a halt to the riots and looting and, well, the celebration.
"No," said Superman, which was the truth, followed closely by a lie: "I'll be fine."
Flash didn't look convinced, but there would be no arguing on this night. A blur of red and the swish of air, and suddenly Clark was alone.
He sat down heavily in the monitor chair and listened to the noises of the station – nonexistent to the human ear, barely perceptible to his. The hum of power, the soft white noise of its many systems at work... systems that Bruce partially designed and wholly funded. And he found himself actively listening for Diana's voice, straining to catch the smallest sound, the briefest laugh, one single word.
Not even a superhuman auditory system could enable him to hear something that wasn't there.
After a few moments he turned the news broadcast back on. A perky brunette was giving the Metropolis forecast for the next week: dismal, to fit his mood. A frustrated swipe of his hand and that screen went dark once more.
Diana. Bruce. One moment there, so absolutely there, alive if not well, Diana struggling to pull herself from the debris, the Batman running to her aid.
"Give it up, Toyman. You'll never hit me with that thing."
"Maybe not. But what about your friends?"
Clark's hands clenched at the chair's armrests.
They'd been there for him, to kill him. He should have seen it... and barring that, he should have been able to save them. It should have been him.
"What about your friends?"
Flash was right; they'd spent a long time at Batman's service tonight, speaking with those who'd come: regular people, simple people, citizens who felt that they owed something to the Dark Knight. Superman had spoken to as many of them as he could, and he'd agreed with what they'd had to say. He'd told them that Batman was loyal, that he was brilliant, and that he was brave. It had all been the truth.
But none of it had seemed as real, as right, as the one truth that rang in his head until he crushed the chair's arms in an iron grip.
It should have been me.
The problem didn't start until after the morning service -- which had been beautiful, really. At the end they had stood outside the church and watched the sun top the buildings, watched the sky brighten. The choir had sung a beautiful song. Superman had said some very moving words.
It wasn't until after the gathering had broken up that John had made his mistake: he'd invited Diana's mother to the wake. It only seemed right; the two had spent such little time together these past few years, and Hippolyta could only be comforted by stories of her daughter's courage, wisdom and kindness.
But Hippolyta had brought along her bodyguard, Phillipus – a General among the Amazons – and when the Queen expressed an interest in seeing Diana's quarters her right-hand woman would not be deterred.
The problem was, in a word, Shayera.
It was obvious that Phillipus was used to things being done her way... and quickly. In that respect she was no different than any of the top brass John had known during his service, only none of them had ever had to deal with Hawkgirl. "I demand that you step aside!"
"And I demand that you stop demanding that I do things!" Shayera snarled. She was blocking the Amazons' way, wings spread and arms crossed, her mace gleaming dangerously at her hip. "You're the guest here, sister, not me."
"Yes, and the Queen is your guest as well, and she is the Princess' mother."
Even through the mask, John could see the incredulous tic in Hawkgirl's eyes. "Well then maybe she should have acted more like it!"
Somewhere to John's left, J'onn groaned softly. They were all trying to pretend that what was happening wasn't, but it was plenty obvious that the gauntlet had just been thrown. Green Lantern looked away, trying to scrunch down into his chair and hoping that Shayera would get this out of her system in short order.
Wishful thinking.
"What do you mean 'what do I mean'?" she was saying now, her voice full of rancor. "The Queen here was the one who had Diana kicked off your precious island after she stopped Ares... after she saved all of you. So much for a mother's love."
"What the Queen did—"
Hippolyta broke in, her soft voice silencing the general at once. "Diana understood my reasons. I would have hoped that you did as well. Perhaps not these men... but you, certainly."
"'These men?' Let me tell you something—" as though anyone could stop her "—these men were there for your daughter when you weren't. They saved your island. They were her friends. We all would have done anything to save her life, including these men. Batman died that day because he was trying to help her."
An empty plastic cup that had been sitting on the table was buffeted by a sudden scarlet turbulence and rattled to the floor. The chair Flash had been sitting in only seconds before was suddenly empty.
The kid was smarter than John usually gave him credit for.
"If it was not for Man's World," Hippolyta snapped, "she would never have left the island."
The Martian standing at the window cringed, and John felt a twinge of sympathy. J'onn, after all, had been the one to bring them together in the first place.
Shayera wasn't convinced. "If it was not for Man's World, Themyscira would be some space invader's summer home right about now!" she volleyed back.
"I resent—"
"Okay, that's it!"
Strange – John had expected the boy in blue to be the one to break up the catfight, but Superman was still standing off to the side with his arms crossed and his face blank. John was the one who'd jumped to his feet, who was the object of the women's attention, who was going to get his ass kicked by both sides if he didn't tread lightly. He set his jaw and made his way to the blocked threshold.
"What is this all about, really?" he asked, looking at Shayera -- despite knowing better.
She bristled. "Oh, fine... you bring them up here, and now you're taking their side."
"I'm not taking anyone's side," he retorted, "unless it's Diana's." He glowered briefly at Hippolyta and Phillipus – one in regal white and gold, the other in demure black – before turning back to Shayera. "She'd be devastated if she saw this."
Hawkgirl's face went still as stone, her body rigid, and then she abruptly tucked her wings back close to her body. "Fine," she spat, giving all three of them a dark look. "Do whatever you want." A swift turn, the thump of her mace against her leg, and she had vanished down the same corridor she had just impeded.
John looked after her, torn, and took a tentative step; the light touch of Hippolyta's hand on his shoulder made him stop, and he looked back into her hesitant expression. "Don't," he said sharply, interrupting whatever she might have said. "If you're going to thank me, don't bother. I agree with most of what she said."
Hippolyta pursed her lips and, thankfully, said nothing.
John found Shayera a few hours later on one of the Watchtower's lower decks, where the lights were typically turned off to conserve power. In the darkness she was little more than an exotic shape silhouetted against the glow of an exterior window, and John stood silently for a moment, wondering if he shouldn't simply leave her to whatever turmoil she was coping with.
She made the decision for him, acknowledging his presence as though he had announced it. Maybe he had. "What'd she take?"
He took a careful step forward. "Nothing. She just went in. Sat on her bed. I let her have some privacy. J'onn offered to take them back home."
She smoothly moved away from the window, hanging close to the shadows, but he'd already caught the flash of her profile beyond the curve of one wing. His eyes, slowly adjusting to the murky light, dropped to her arm and saw the half-mask dangling from her fingertips.
Despite the sadness, despite the grief, John felt a sudden quickening of his pulse. He'd never seen her face. He didn't think any of them had.
Shayera seemed to read his mind. "John... don't." She paused, uncharacteristically ill at ease. "It's... it's not our way. To let our faces be seen in public. Not by someone who isn't... To be stripped of one's helmet is to be stripped of rank... title... It's humiliation."
It was more than she had ever told him about her people before. "Then why..."
She shook her head; he could see the movement of her red hair brushing her shoulders. "Because after how I acted today... I'm already embarrassed."
He slid a little closer to the window, keeping his gaze fixed firmly on the starlight. "You had some good points."
"That doesn't matter. It wasn't the time – I was angry. And that's no excuse. She's her mother, and I acted..." In his peripheral vision he watched as she tipped her head forward and sighed. "It's only been a few days, John, and I already feel like we're falling apart."
What could he say to that? He had no assurances for her. "You've lost friends before. So have I. It... happens. It's something you learn to deal with."
"Yes," she agreed readily, voice still full of sadness. "But this is different."
"Yeah." Despite what he had just said he found himself nodding, found a sudden tightness in his throat that made swallowing a Herculean feat. "Because they were different."
Her voice was soft, syllabic, little more than a whisper. "John... if you want..."
She began to turn his way; he quickly averted his eyes. "Not now," he told her gently, staring into the void of space. "When you're ready... I'll be more than happy to see your face."
There was a moment of silent stillness, then a hand on his arm. Unlike Hippolyta's touch it was warm, and real, and he welcomed it.
The following days brought two curious developments... curious at least as far as J'onn J'onzz was concerned.
First came news of the untimely death of a Mr. Bruce Wayne.
This in itself was not so strange – the wealthy often traveled by plane and most human aircraft were notoriously unreliable – but Superman's reaction to the headline was notable. "Did you know him?" J'onn had asked, too polite to probe the man's mind at such a time.
"Not really," Superman had said brusquely, staring hard at the footage of the burning fuselage. "But his corporation meant a lot to Gotham. Two big losses in such a short time... I feel for the City."
It was such an obvious lie, even to someone who was not telepathic, that J'onn did not press the matter. But neither did he forget it.
The second strangeness came the next day, during a visit to Batman's place of symbolic internment. The simple plaque from the memorial had been replaced by a stunning statue of a tall, solidly built man in a familiar suit and cowl. The figure's cape, while carved from the same black granite as the rest of the piece, seemed to flutter with the smallest breeze. J'onn had stared; the likeness was... uncanny.
In that way -- if no other -- it was a befitting tribute to the man himself.
When J'onn inquired as to the sculpture's origins, Flash's answer was flippant. "Heard about it on the news. Some guy named Grayson... Bruce Wayne's adopted kid... heir to the company now that his dad's kicked the bucket. He had it commissioned. Just a P.R. stunt, if you ask me." He had laughed derisively. "Who knows, maybe he thinks if he throws around enough cash he'll get to be the new Batman."
J'onn found it hard to believe that this Grayson man could have had such a fine piece of art completed within a single day. Still, he had himself seen the wonders which could be accomplished on this planet through the power of money.
The next development, of course, was not as curious as it was infuriating: a massive jailbreak in Metropolis. Witnesses said that the criminals had fled towards Gotham, no doubt eager to add fuel to the waning riots.
"We have to help," said Hawkgirl firmly, as they stood watching the reports on the main screen. J'onn nodded silently. Nightwing and Batgirl were accomplished crime-fighters, and even young Robin was coming into his own, but to his mind they were still all children. And with the mystique of the Batman punctured, the rouges would be far bolder.
Superman gave a determined nod. "We're still the Justice League," he said in a voice that made them all stand a little straighter. "Let's remind them of that."
End Part 1