"The Faculty of Conscious and Especially Of Deliberate Action" Pt.1, Alan Scott, PG-13, 11636 words
Fandom DC COMICS (Justice Society of America/Golden Age Green Lantern)
Title The Faculty of Conscious and Especially Of Deliberate Action
Rating/Warning PG-13/canon suicide, character death
Pairings/Characters Alan Scott/canon partners, Alan Scott/OFC, Alan Scott/Jay Garrick/Joan Williams implied
Spoilers general for the current JLA/JSA crossover
SummaryThe Life and Loves of the Golden Age Green Lantern. For almost 100 years Alan Scott has tried to choose the responsible and right action. He's sometimes succeeded and often failed and now he's forced to face both the joys and demons of his past. Written for comicsbigbang
Disclaimer I own nothing. I make nothing. Alan Scott and ensemble belong to DC Entertainment/Time Warner.
Word Count 11636 total (both parts)
Thanks to afixation and merelyfic. This fic would not have happened without you. I owe you both immense gratitude for sharing your fanon and for help with brainstorming and story structure. ♥♥♥ You guys are the best! Thank you!
Thanks also to fictionalknight and wabbitseason for support at a critical juncture and to buscheaux for the beta.
merelyfic also contributed this amazing piece of art, which says everything I tried to say about Alan in the fic. A picture really does say a thousand words. Go tell her how wonderful and perfect it is!
SHAKEN,
The blossoms of lilac,
And shattered,
The atoms of purple.
Green dip the leaves,
Darker the bark,
Longer the shadows.
Sheer lines of poplar
Shimmer with masses of silver
And down in a garden old with years
And broken walls of ruin and story,
Roses rise with red rain-memories.
May!
In the open world
The sun comes and finds your face,
Remembering all.
- Carl Sandburg, "Follies", Chicago Poems, 1916.
Except now he was. The Starheart overwhelmed him from the inside. Every limb ached. Every synapse sharply tingled. Every muscle spasmed for control of his body. His power flowed from him, flying in every direction, through every organism, through magic and scientific order and all that was right and was not in the world. It was tearing him apart and try as he might, he couldn't do anything to stop it.'>
Alan Scott wasn't accustomed to needing help. He was the one to help others. He wasn't helpless.
Except now he was. The Starheart overwhelmed him from the inside. Every limb ached. Every synapse sharply tingled. Every muscle spasmed for control of his body. His power flowed from him, flying in every direction, through every organism, through magic and scientific order and all that was right and was not in the world. It was tearing him apart and try as he might, he couldn't do anything to stop it.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
"Help! Help!"
Davey Merry's face was in the dirt. Pushed by two older boys going after Davey's apple. Alan watched them while clenching his useless fists at his sides. He wanted to help Davey, but he just didn't see how he could best those big boys. They were at least twice his size.
Today was Alan's first day at Milton School.
It was five weeks since his mother had left, not telling him or his dad where she was going or when she'd return. He reckoned she'd be home soon.
He told his dad about Davey in the barn after school. His dad put his hand on his shoulder, rooting him firmly to the earthen path at his feet. "Why didn't you help him, son?"
Alan looked up at his dad's weather-beaten face. "They were bigger than me. I couldn't have won."
"That don't got nothing to do with it. I'm disappointed in you, son. Thought you had a good sense of what's right." Alan felt a wave of shame wash over him. His father shook his head and went back to work. Alan did the same, but he wondered how trying to fight those boys would've done any good. His mama could have helped him see what to do.
He pushed at the manure with his shovel. He figured wherever she was, it had to be better than here.
The next day at the schoolhouse yard, he went on over to Davey Merry. "Hey, Davey."
"Hey." Davey was frowning. Alan's mind was made up, though. He was going to do the right thing by Davey even if he got his head bashed in for his efforts.
~*~*~*~*~*~
She had a name - Ethel - but afterward Alan always thought of her as "The Widow" because she deserved the kind of respect that came with owning a title.
Alan couldn't remember the first day he met The Widow. He didn't remember the first time he saw her or spoke with her. In fact, he didn't even remember the first time they made love. It all blended together in his mind - the beautiful, passionate, defining summer when he was sixteen and she spread herself open and showed him the world, reading him books in her bed and listening to him tell stories in her garden.
The Widow was not a beautiful woman in the traditional sense. She had red hair which he adored and a nose that seemed too large for her face, even while her brow was too broad. Her eyes were a mischievous gray too old for their years and freckles dotted her skin, even over the parts she kept well covered.
He knew by his father's tastes that beauty was symmetrical, austere and melodious. The Widow was asymmetrical, vibrant and raucous. She laughed too loudly. Her clothes were too bright. Her opinions too bold. She wore glasses too small for her face and she ran a small library for the town out of her home. Part of him wished more people used it, but then he wouldn't have her all to himself.
She'd been educated at Ivy Town before her husband had died in The Great War. She wasn't that much older than Alan, but age wasn't the point anyway. It was her daring that drew him in like a moth to the flame. The way she stood up for herself at the Grange when they'd called her indecent. Her love for Hemingway and the way she'd chosen Alan as her lover.
They were lying naked on the floor of her study, pillows and books piled high around them. He had his head on her belly while her small hand ran through his hair, tracing a pattern he couldn't discern. He was counting her freckles and had currently reached three hundred and twenty seven. She smelled of roses and hay and he wanted to lie there forever, but he knew his father needed him back at the farm. Responsibility tugged at his heart. Alan wanted to stay and play chess, instead he reached up to play with her nipple.
"Why did you come back here?"
The Widow swatted his thigh. It didn't sting. "Come on now, Alan. What kind of question is that?"
"It's my kind of question." From his angle, her chin jutted, blocking his view of her face. He sat up and straddled her, the better to see her response. He felt this answer was important somehow, as though her opinion could somehow either keep him bound here always or set him free.
She regarded his intensity and smiled up at him, cupped his face in her hands. He leaned into her touch.
"I'm needed here. I like being needed." He understood being needed. He liked that too, but he shook his head.
"You have the whole world out there. Aren't you needed there, too?"
She laughed and traced her fingers through the newly grown blond hairs on his chest. It was ridiculous to be proud of them, he knew, but he was just the same.
"Not really. A girl like me has to make her own place in the world and this is mine."
Alan shook his head again. "You could be doing great things. This town doesn't appreciate you -- people don't even come in to read the books."
The Widow was quiet a moment, contemplating. Really thinking about his question, he thought. This was why he loved her. Contemplation was a beautiful thing. "People need a place to belong."
He shook his head yet again; setting his jaw this time. "I don't," he said. "I don't need to belong anywhere. I'm going to do great things for the world. I'm going to be a king of industry and progress." He paused for emphasis and stared into the reflection on her glasses, pronouncing solemnly "Progress can't stand still."
Her eyes lost their sparkle for a moment. "I know. You just remember to be good wherever you go." She slapped his ass and as he leaned down for a kiss, the mischievous glint returned behind her glasses.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Everything was bigger in the Pacific Northwest: the trees, the mountains, the valleys. Alan still couldn't quite believe the Pacific Northern line had chosen his design for their mountain bridge across the Columbia River. It had been a tricky design.
The train line ran through the heart of the Cascade Mountains, it's sharp volcanic peaks looming in the distances while the rocky crevices gave the bridge a precarious perch over the deep ravine forged by the mile wide river. The river itself raged below carrying the rapid waters down to the Pacific Ocean where, he was told, it met fifty foot swells. Here in the valley, the bent and fallen trees - some of which a man could lay down horizontal within the trunk - spoke of the 100-mile-per-hour-plus strong winds that whipped through the valley.
And they'd chosen his bridge to cross this force of nature and carry progress and commerce further into the providential West. Alan swelled with pride. He'd never felt prouder in his life. He'd beaten an established firm to do it, too. A retired Army Corps of Engineers veteran, Matthew Dekker was proven and reliable. His designs were also, in Alan's opinion, thoroughly unimaginative and old fashioned. It was time for new ideas and methods. Time for progress.
The Pacific Northern had even invited him to ride the train for the inaugural trip across his bridge. He shared a car with a young porter named Jimmy who was assigned, he was certain, to keep him entertained. Jimmy pointed out various landmarks as they passed them and gave Alan the history of how the railroad had first come to each area.
Alan had started his trip in San Francisco and the ride through Oregon had taken up the day. It had been overcast throughout the trip, but Alan paid no mind to the clouds. Jimmy was pleasant enough company and he certainly seemed knowledgeable enough. The landscape was beautiful regardless. He'd never seen such trees! He wondered if his mother had ever seen the west coast and how untamed the land was there.
It was twilight when they finally came to his bridge. He knew it's every rivet and strut in his mind, but to see it beneath them as the train plowed across, thrilled his heart. He could hear the wheels of the train churn, and the roar of the water far below the cars.
Jimmy stood tense and erect away from the window. "Afraid of heights?" Alan asked.
"Nah," Jimmy shook his head, "I'm afraid of Dekker. He don't like to lose and rumor has it he's out for revenge."
Alan scoffed. "Please. He's not going to sabotage the line just because he lost a bid. There'll be other bids."
Halfway across the bridge his heart stopped in his chest, as a deafening boom split the air.
Then they were falling freely - the boxcar upturned onto it's side. Alan and Jimmy were thrown across the car and crashed into the other side. Jimmy had hit his head and was bleeding from the gash. Alan clung to a green lantern welded to the wall. Outside past the windows, he could see a blur of green, brown and blue fly past them.
He wondered for a moment if he were going to die.
The impact flung him from the boxcar, lantern and all. He landed in a surprisingly soft patch of mossy earth.
A yard away, Jimmy had been crushed beneath their boxcar. All around him were steel and splintered wood, bits of fabric and bits of bodies, scattered throughout the rocks and trees and the detritus of the train and tracks. The air smelled of dirt and pine and blood. The river rushed and roared out of sight.
Alan vomited.
Then, the lantern began to glow...
~*~*~*~*~*~
"... And I shall shed my light over dark evil, for the dark things cannot stand the light... the light of the Green Lantern!"
~*~*~*~*~*~
"I'm a faster talker than that fellow and I'm going to get that scoop." Irene Miller's voice carried across the broadcast studio.
Irene had been the connection Alan needed to get the sound engineering job at Apex Broadcasting. Now, he was close to the news and could go straight to the action as Green Lantern. He'd told Irene he was an engineer and conveniently left out the part where his training was in structural engineering, rather than in radio waves. He was a quick study and what he couldn't surmise, the ring helped him know.
Irene was a pretty lady. Independent. Exactly what he'd dreamed city girls where like when he'd first moved to Gotham for college. She was the stuff of his dreams and she intimidated him. So, he did his best to hide it.
The ring helped. Wearing the green lantern ring on his finger, he felt as though he could do anything. Help anyone. Best anyone. Nab the criminal. Even get the girl.
Irene, however, was proving elusive. She was just as fast a talker as she claimed to be and she was always running off to put herself into danger to get a story. Ever the newswoman.
With ambitions. He knew she really wanted to be an actress.
And he knew that she'd fallen for the Green Lantern.
Alan, in his stubbornness, hadn't told her they were one and the same. He wanted to win her on his own merits.
He found that keeping up the facade was getting more difficult with each passing day.
Now, she grabbed her handbag and headed for the door. Off to the races before he could even gather his coat and hat.
~*~*~*~*~*~
President Roosevelt had sent him to Glasgow to protect Great Britain against an Axis attack from across the Channel. For such an important task the president had assigned him a partner, The Flash of Keystone City.
The Flash was a handsome fellow. He wore no mask and Alan could evaluate his face clearly, with its straight nose and sparkling blue eyes and thick brown hair. He introduced himself as Jay even though they'd only just met and Alan was wearing a mask. Jay was lean as befitted a runner. He was sharp-tongued, cocky and quick to wear a smile. He didn't seem to take himself or their work seriously and for that Alan found The Flash immensely irritating.
When given the signal, Jay and he stormed the castle where the Nazis were hiding. They found a small contingent of soldiers to oppose them. It seemed confusing to Alan that the British government would request help for such a simple and small force, but it wasn't his place to question where he could help.
The men tried to shoot them, but Jay merely dodged them with his speed while Alan conjured a shield with his ring. Jay gathered the men together and Alan put them neatly in a cage.
He began to question them, then while his back was turned, he heard a mighty roar and before he could turn to see it's source, Jay came barreling into him at superhuman speed. They were both knocked unconscious.
He woke to find himself and Jay bound behind Hitler as he spoke on a dais in Nazi Berlin.
"Well, Flash, this is a fine kettle we're in. How do you suppose we save the day, now?"
The Flash was grinning. They were captured by Nazis and he was still carefree.
He'd never seen anything quite like it when Hourman and Doctor Fate swooped in to rescue them while with the Spear of Destiny itself, Hitler unleashed the Valkyries.
Alan had never fought goddesses before. But, he'd never fought with other heroes by his side, either.
He found the Flash wasn't laughing anymore. And though the Valkyries fought on winged horses and the battle was in the skies, Jay had brought himself into the air with the power of kinetics and was fighting valiantly by his side.
Once the Valkyries disappeared, vanquished in their mission, Alan and his companions returned to Great Britain to finish the job they had started. Only to see when they'd reached the Cliffs of Dover that Hawkman, The Atom, Sandman and The Spectre had finished it for them.
The people were safe, the Nazis captured and he and The Flash had made a good team.
When it was all said and done, he shook Jay's hand.
"I'm pleased to meet you, Jay. I'm Alan."
~*~*~*~*~*~
His morning paper was spread out before him. A pile of donuts on a plate on his table. A cup of coffee next to it. His pipe and tobacco nearby.
Doiby Dickles sat next to him in the parlor. His derby still on his head - the cab driver was never without it.
People believed Doiby amused him, and he was chagrined to admit that was so. More importantly, Doiby challenged his assumptions. Kept him honest. Kept him humble.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Jay Garrick's bachelor pad wasn't a bachelor pad. When Alan had first heard that Jay lived with his girlfriend, he'd been more than a little scandalized. And impressed.
When he finally met the lady in question, he was charmed more than anything else. Joan Williams kept up with Jay in every way but running. She may even have run a few proverbial laps around him.
Today, they were discussing American poetry and the debate was getting heated.
Alan favored T.S. Eliot, Joan favored Walt Whitman, while Jay argued for Carl Sandburg.
"Whitman is sensuous. Those two wouldn't know a visceral reaction if it knocked them in the patootie."
"Hmph. Whitman's meter is horrific. Sure, he can describe a feeling, but where's the beauty of his structure? It's pathetic."
"Not as pathetic as Eliot's ostentatious intellectualism. Full of philosophical mumbo-jumbo. Poetry should be for everyone. It shouldn't all be about immortality in the abstract. We can get the same sentiment from just everyday life. That's why Sandburg's the best; he's got the structure and he's accessible."
"Yeah, but he's austere," Joan challenged. "Where's the fun in the that?"
~*~*~*~*~*~
It was hard to leave Apex, but Alan had to do it. He wanted to be closer to the Justice Society. He wanted to be closer to his friends.
Of course, the job at Gotham Broadcasting was easy to arrange and Doiby agreed without hesitation to accompany him to Gotham.
With Irene, it was a more difficult goodbye.
She slapped him. When he stood unfazed, she began beating against his chest.
"How dare you! How dare you!" She repeated it in a litany, as though he had somehow learned not to dare.
She couldn't understand and he couldn't tell her the truth, of course.
Instead, she raged and when her rage was spent, she sat defeated with her impotence to change his mind.
"At least, give me a good reason."
He didn't have one - none he could tell her anyway.
She sneered, "And all along, I thought there might be something human to you. How I was wrong!"
~*~*~*~*~*~
Alan could feel every ache and pain in his body, including a few splinters he wasn't sure would come out of his shoulder. His costume was tattered and there was blood on his hands, though it wasn't his. Carter was off with the Doc; Sheira refused to leave his side. He watched them as they headed to the Infirmary, her hand in his, her shoulder supporting his slumping weight.
Their bond was legendary.
Jay sat down beside Alan with a huff. He was dirty - filthy even. Grease mingled with blood and dirt had smudged his face and hands. The yellow lightning bolt on his shirt was muddied to a dark brown. His jeans were worn and Alan thought he might have seen a few bullet holes through the fabric even.
Jay took off his boots and emptied them of the dirt and pebbles. He laid them aside. Next he removed his hat, spit on it and pulling out a handkerchief, he began to polish the metal. Alan tried not to laugh, but failed.
"What's so funny?" Jay frowned at him.
"You. You're funny. You look ridiculous!"
"I don't look ridiculous!" But Jay did look ridiculous. His hat hair lay flat on his head, somehow untouched by the dirt and grime on the rest of him. There was a perfect circle marking the difference between clean and dirty. His face and neck were almost as red as his shirt. Alan laughed even harder, doubling over.
Finally, he recovered enough to manage to say, "You better get cleaned up before you go home to Joan like that."
Jay smiled at that. "Joan'll have me in whatever form I come in, but yeah, I'll smarten up for her first." He winked at Alan then and disappeared with a rush of wind, presumably headed to the showers.
~*~*~*~*~*~
The yellow and black vertical striped stockings on the well-shaped legs flashed before him as the wooden mandolin came crashing down on his head. He felt the shocking pain then blacked out, still seeing those glorious gams.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Sensation overwhelmed his mind and thoughts rushed out in a haze. Immersed and surrounded, Alan had never before felt such charity, such mercy. He wondered how they managed not to make him feel apart. They weren't his even as he was theirs, but he never felt alone with Jay and Joan.
He opened his eyes to Joan's open lashes and Jay's vibrating smile.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Alan was surprised to get the distress call from Jay over his JSA communicator. Joan had been attacked by the Thorn. Put out to sea on a bubble waiting to burst. Jay had rescued her from disaster just in time. Now, he needed Alan's help to transport the Thorn's alter-ego to Queen Hippolyta's island for criminal Amazons.
The girl was pretty with blonde hair and blue eyes. He never would have recognized her as the red haired Thorn. Jay explained that Rose's personality had been magically split and now she - Rose - wanted to reform. Wonder Woman had offered her a means to do it. The girl would travel to Transformation Island and be tended by Myra, the Priestess of Aphrodite. She could stay as long as was necessary - forever if needed - the magic of the island would keep her youthful until she was cured and able to return to Man's World once again.
Only, Jay needed to tend to Joan and Her Majesty was with Wildcat, busy fighting the Huntress. Alan was to fly Rose to the island, but not to land on it himself.
He carried her close to his body, careful not to harm her. She seemed delicate to him in this form - not at all like the treacherous Thorn. Rose didn't smell like roses, though; she smelled of honeysuckle.
They flew in silence, the rhythmic rise and fall of the ocean beneath them.
"Do you really think she can help me? You can't imagine how much I hate what my sister does?"
Her sister? It took Alan a moment to remember that though they were the same person, Rose had deluded herself into believing the Thorn to be her sister. Alan hardened his heart and reminded himself the girl and the villainess were one and the same.
"True. I can't imagine choosing to take life instead of save it."
Rose tightened her grip around his waist. "Neither can I, Mister Green Lantern. I'm a botanist - I help life to thrive and grow." She shuddered. "I hate her, you know. And now, I'm going to prison." Silent tears streaked down her cheeks.
His heart softened despite himself. "Wonder Woman and the Amazons will take care of you, Rose. You're not going to prison. You're going to get help."
She tucked her head into his cape and they flew the rest of the way in silence again.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Dignified. Proud. Unashamed. Alan reminded himself that he possessed these qualities as he stood with his colleagues. His friends. The Justice Society of America.
The mystery men and women had been called before Senator Joe McCarthy's House UnAmerican Activities Committee. The HUAC wanted them to remove their masks to prove their loyalty. Insisted on it. Despite that Jay and Polly never wore a mask. Despite all the times the JSA had saved them from hell, damnation and Hitler.
They'd held an emergency meeting. They decided to face this public humiliation, but rather than unmask, they would disband the JSA and individually retire.
Standing before the Committee and speaking directly to the Senators, Carter spoke well for them all as their Chairman. Alan supposed that sometimes it helped to have been Pharaoh.
~*~*~*~*~*~
The air was thinner on the rooftop. Alan had never really noticed that before today. If he were up this high, it was usually inside one of his bubble constructs and the richness of the air wasn't a concern. Today, he was finding it hard to breathe.
Perhaps, it had nothing to do with the air density. The Harlequin knelt on a green fire-constructed cushion before him, her mouth hot and encompassing. She still wore her spectacles, and maybe this was an illusion. If it was, he didn't care.
It felt amazing. Dangerous and forbidden and just right.
He gripped her red hair in his hands, the thick strands threading soft across his fingers. Her cone hat was askew.
Alan admired the arch of her bare shoulder. It dipped and swayed, a perfect cliff of possibility leading down her muscled back on one side, down to her luscious bosom on the other.
Her fingers, gloved in blue-dyed soft kid leather, gently kneaded. So gentle.
It was shocking to think this criminal could be so gentle. She was such a bad girl.
And he was a good man. Yet, here he was, vulnerable in her embrace.
There had been a bank robbery. Not a supervillain, just a lowly thug and Alan had thought it an easy capture. Until the thug had pulled a loose chair leg for a makeshift weapon.
Alan was vulnerable to wood and despite his best efforts, the thug had deflected Alan's blows and constructs to knock him against the wooden wall. Dazed, the thug would have escaped if not for the Harlequin and her illusions.
She'd called the thug competition and laughed off her help, but Alan was grateful despite her protests. He'd insisted on a rooftop meeting. To his surprise, she'd agreed. And here they were.
He lifted her up with his hands, her cushion disappearing beneath her and kissed her hard, their teeth clanging together with the force of their passion.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Alan wasn't entirely sure he was completely under the spell of the Harlequin's illusions. Some part of him wanted to marry her just as much as she apparently did him. He wondered, momentarily, if it would have been legal. Two costumed heroes marrying in their heroing identities.
Except how she was a villainess, not a hero.
He tended sometimes to forget that point. He'd begun to find it hard to believe. She'd helped him so many times.
So, when she'd kissed him and said she loved him, he'd thought it was real.
"I love you, too," he'd said and meant it.
"Marry me," he'd said and meant it.
Yet, his ring had rejected her. How could her goodness be an illusion? Maybe there was something wrong with his ring...
~*~*~*~*~*~
"Well, Alan. I guess this is it. Ramia and me, we're settin' off for Myrg tomorrow. I still can't believe I'm the one got hitched. And to a space princeress!"
Doiby grinned at him from beneath his derby hat.
"Yes, well... you know, I wish you both all the best. Nobody deserves happiness more than you, Doiby."
Alan put his hand on Doiby's shoulder and squeezed, hoping he'd successfully hidden the regret he felt. He would miss Doiby. His mother's imagined face flashed in his mind, but she wasn't smiling, benevolent. She was harsh and judging and he knew he'd disappointed her.
He missed everyone who left him.
~*~*~*~*~*~
The bodies plagued his nightmares. "MADE OF WOOD" carved into their chests, the victims had been left in Robinson Park and called upon by the GCPD, Alan had been unable to solve the mystery of their murders. He only knew they were directed toward him.
Gotham's criminals were making him the reason for their crimes now. They were trying to make him the cause of their evil doings.
He was not the cause.
He rubbed his ring. It felt so sure and solid on his finger. Like it belonged.
When he first started using the ring, he'd simply hit people with a green beam. It took him a while to realize he could command it to do other things. Bind crooks where they stood. Instantly know their dastardly plans. Walk through walls. Fly. Create objects with his mind. He was limited only by his imagination.
And wood. Though it took him a while to realize his weakness, too.
He considered what else the ring could do. Could it show him who murdered the people in the park? Could it root them out? Instantly incarcerate them? What about every other evil being, thought and deed in the world?
Couldn't he just wish it all away? With the magic of his ring.
The thought made him shudder. He thought of the Spectre wielding the might of God's vengeance. Tempered by Jim Corrigan, his friend, the man.
His green ring felt hot on his finger, as though it burned him with it's flames. Alan took it off and dropped the weapon into his pocket.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Alan stared at the notice on his desk, his head in his hands, completely unaware of the time passing him by - he didn't know what to do. This wasn't the JSA, there was no hiding behind masks. He couldn't walk away from this one. His writers were being attacked.
He saw his company in his mind, everyone from the janitors to the engineers to the performers to the program managers. All in his hands. The HUAC knew their names. Would they sacrifice their co-workers, their friends?
For their families. Alan hung his head.
They were all relying on his protection. How could he protect them from a witch hunt? His stomach churned.
He called his lawyer; Arnold King could talk his way out of anything, find a loophole in a tapestry. Alan asked after his wife and children, made the proper pleasantries and then got to the heart of the matter.
"Trouble's brewing. It's my writers... Give it to me straight, how can I fight this?"
Arnold hesitated. "Alan, honestly, I don't think you can. You're going to have to let them go."
That was unacceptable. "I intend to stand behind my employees. They're good writers... good men."
"You'll find other writers, Alan." Arnold's tone was firm, as though arguing with a mule.
"Fire them?" Alan was incredulous. There had to be a different way.
"Yes. It's better - safer for you."
"Dammit Arnold, when have I ever played it safe?" Alan hung up on him. He'd have to find a new attorney. Maybe Terry Sloane, though he didn't want to involve the Justice Society. The further they stayed away from this the better.
He refused to fail them, absolutely refused to fail his employees and their families. Not like he'd failed Gotham.
He fingered the ring in his pocket. So familiar and comfortable. He couldn't take that kind of power onto himself again.
Instead, he'd visit Opal City and Ted Knight. As ridiculous as it was, Ted had already been through this. Called before the HUAC, despite his work on the Manhattan Project. Because, he'd regretted it and spoken freely. Teddy would know what to do.
The green ring felt heavy in his pocket.
~*~*~*~*~*~
He found Ted scribbling furiously on a chalkboard, calculations and trajectories. Maps to the heavens and the power of the universe. In chalk. To be erased at the whim of a man who'd lost his mind. Because he'd felt responsible for the deaths of thousands. Because his imagination had helped to produce a terrible weapon.
Of course, the facilities' staff had given Alan explicit instructions not to mention Ted's work with Robert Oppenheimer. Alan had every intention of honoring that request. He didn't want to cause his friend further harm.
Alan waited a moment for Ted to notice him, but he was too involved in his work. Or, maybe he just wasn't as observant as he used to be. "Ted."
Ted seemed startled. His eyes wide, they focused on Alan slowly, as though adjusting to gazing on an actual person was difficult.
Then a grin broke wide and in two strides, he was embracing Alan in a bear hug. When he finally parted, Ted said, "How are you, old friend? It's been so long since I've seen you." He didn't seem to realize he was greeting Alan in his dressing gown and slippers, interred in an asylum.
Alan returned a rueful smile. Never one to beat about the bush and fearing his time with Ted would be all too short, he got straight to the point. "I wish I were better, Ted. They're coming after my company. The HUAC."
Ted shook his head, gestured for Alan to come in and find a seat and went back to his chalk board. He stared at it for what would have felt like too long, if Alan hadn't known him so well. Instead, Alan took the time to sit in one of the chairs in Ted's cell.
Finally, "Have you told them? Do you they know who you are? Who you were?"
"I haven't told them anything, yet, Ted. They're going after my writers; some of them have had communist affiliations in the past."
"It used to mean a different thing, didn't it? Socialism was different before the war."
"Now Ted, you know I don't care for the politics of it. Either side has got their story and their agenda. It's my writers. My company. All those people counting on me... I can't let them down. I can't let them break me." He didn't say, "like they did you"; it wasn't needed.
Ted began to erase the work on his board. Alan watched his back, curious what scientific marvels were disappearing with the chalk.
"You know what it's like when they question your loyalty, integrity and honor. You know how we felt." Ted turned then and looked at him. "It's worse when they use your own name, Alan... It's just worse."
Ted sat down beside Alan then and took his hand. "Have you thought of using the ring?"
Now, here they were finally to the crux of the matter. "Yes, of course I have."
Ted waited for Alan to reveal the rest of his chosen course of action.
"I'm not going to use it. I'm not even wearing it."
Ted blinked, clearly stunned. "You could change it all with your ring, you know. You've saved the world countless times over. There's no Spear of Destiny keeping you from protecting your employees. It's not as though your motivations are selfish. Where would the harm be, Alan?" He squeezed his hand then for emphasis. "Where?"
Alan jerked his hand away. Stood and walked to the window, looking directly out to the thousands of shimmering stars casting their light into the room.
He couldn't look at Ted while he said this, but it had to be said. It couldn't remain unspoken. "You know better than anybody that the road to hell was paved with good intentions."
Ted stayed very still behind him. Alan could hear his own heart beating in his chest while his pulse pounded in his ears. It had to be said. Ted would have to face it sometime. He needed to face it to get better, Alan rationalized and ignored the twinge of guilt from his conscience. He fingered the green ring in his pocket. "You think the atomic bomb was bad? How many thousands did that kill? It's nothing, Ted! A small drop of what I can do! I start meddling with people's minds like I did in the beginning... I could tear this planet apart by willing it to be so! With the spear gone, there's nothing to stop me now! Nothing at all! And you think I should put the damn thing on and use it? You think I should start down that path because right now all I want to do is help my writers and their families and all the people who depend on their work for their livelihoods. I should go mucking about in people's heads? Because I can! I can do an infinite number of things! Things to truly harness the stars! Things to make your little bomb look like child's play!"
There was a longer silence following Alan's tirade. He felt righteous and terrible and guilty. He stood there clenching and unclenching his fists until he could be sure he wouldn't lash out further at his friend. It was a full five minutes before he dared turn around to see Ted's face.
He was regarding him intently and his eyes were sad, his shoulder's slumped. Ted stood and walked to Alan. Each footfall strong and purposeful. When he reached him, Ted moved his arm to Alan's shoulder and squeezed.
"Alan Scott, you are a pompous and narcissistic fool. If you don't want to use your ring that's fine. But, let's not make it more than what it is. Cowardice." Alan felt his blood boil, but Ted continued undeterred. "You're afraid of what you can do. Whether that's right or not depends on your own good will. I'd be a fool to doubt that and I'm only sometimes a fool. You're right though, you don't need powers to help your people; you can solve this with good old-fashioned wits. I believe in you, old friend. Now, my mistakes are my own and no one else's." With that, his eyes hardened into steel and his voice turned cold. "Now, get out and don't come see me again."
"Ted, I--"
"I said, "Go!""
Suitably chastised, Alan stepped away from Ted and left contrite with the pain he'd caused his friend. Ted was right; he was a pompous fool. Though, Ted was wrong about the ring; the temptation to do what Alan thought best was too strong. As powerful as Ted was, he doubted even Ted understood what it felt like to read and control people's thoughts. Perhaps, Kent Nelson would have been a better choice of confidante?
It didn't matter now. His mind was obviously made up; he would face the HUAC as a man as nature intended, rather than with magical powers.
~*~*~*~*~*~
"What should we do, Molly?" It may have been out of the ordinary to ask his secretary her opinion, but Alan thought Molly Mayne was anything but ordinary. She'd been his secretary since he'd been in charge of Gotham Broadcasting. She'd provided needed cover for his Green Lantern activities and never asked any questions. She was sharp as a tack with the books and insightful about the employees. She was even, he admitted to himself, quite pleasant on the eyes, if a little skinny. That was an intangible plus he enjoyed. He couldn't imagine the office without her.
Molly sat on the edge of the table, her red hair tied in a practical braid behind her head. Her freckles stood out under the fluorescent lights of the office. She was biting her lip as she ran her hand over her brow and up into her hair. She always did that while thinking.
"Well, what did Arnold say?"
"Arnold's an idiot. He'd cut the heads off his children to save his own skin."
Molly raised her eyebrows. Alan knew he sounded vitriolic, but he was still seething with how Arnold had counseled him to fire his employees to save himself. Molly patted his arm.
"Not good advice then, I take it. Let's be sure to think of something else, then." She smiled softly, her eyes gentle and keen.
"The HUAC wants GBS to give up our writers, huh?" Alan nodded. "They threatened to come directly for the company next?" Alan nodded again.
"Well, than lets be sure there's no company for them to take." Alan jumped to his feet and began to pace. Molly's eyes followed him.
"Molly have you lost your mind? That won't solve a thing."
"Why not? If we dissolve the radio station, it won't be vulnerable to an attack."
"And none of us will have jobs, not just the writers!"
Molly grinned, sly. "Sure we will... at the television station, WGBS!" She giggled like it was a big secret she'd finally been allowed to reveal.
Alan was skeptical. "Is that legal?"
"I'm not sure," Molly acknowledged. "I could put Arnold - or some other qualified individual - to work on it right away..."
Alan considered a moment. It couldn't hurt to investigate the possibility, at least. "Do it, but let's go through what other options we might have, also..."
Dutifully, Molly turned to her notepad for transcription.
~*~*~*~*~*~
His hat flew off his head, carried down the street by the wind. Alan ran after it, but it landed neatly by the Sprang River. No sign of Jay anywhere.
~*~*~*~*~*~
He stood at the window, watching the hustle and bustle of Gotham beneath him. He loved this city - she was more vibrant than any other city on the east coast - and that included Manhattan.
Molly cleared her throat behind him. "You look tense." He could feel her hands through his suit jacket kneading his shoulders. She was such a tall woman, he marveled at her reaching them so easily. Until he realized she shouldn't be touching him at all.
He turned around and her hands landed neatly on his lapels. "Molly, please..." He didn't need to say this; she knew what was professional and what was not.
"Please, what?" Her green eyes pleaded with him. He shook his head.
"No, Molly." She lifted her chin up high and stepped away from him.
"Fine. I just thought... " She let it hang, the air heavy between them.
"Just thought what?"
She pinched her lips together. "Just thought you might be human, that's all."
Molly put her hand on his heart, then she spun on her heels and left the office, closing the big double doors behind her.
That evening when he left work, he found her desk empty.
On it was an envelope addressed to "Mr. Scott". He picked it up gingerly, as though afraid of a little paper cut.
Molly's resignation letter. He wasn't going to see her again.
The next morning, he leaned his head against the windows of his office, but this time he didn't see Gotham at all. Only lost possibilities.
ON TO PART TWO!
Title The Faculty of Conscious and Especially Of Deliberate Action
Rating/Warning PG-13/canon suicide, character death
Pairings/Characters Alan Scott/canon partners, Alan Scott/OFC, Alan Scott/Jay Garrick/Joan Williams implied
Spoilers general for the current JLA/JSA crossover
SummaryThe Life and Loves of the Golden Age Green Lantern. For almost 100 years Alan Scott has tried to choose the responsible and right action. He's sometimes succeeded and often failed and now he's forced to face both the joys and demons of his past. Written for comicsbigbang
Disclaimer I own nothing. I make nothing. Alan Scott and ensemble belong to DC Entertainment/Time Warner.
Word Count 11636 total (both parts)
Thanks to afixation and merelyfic. This fic would not have happened without you. I owe you both immense gratitude for sharing your fanon and for help with brainstorming and story structure. ♥♥♥ You guys are the best! Thank you!
Thanks also to fictionalknight and wabbitseason for support at a critical juncture and to buscheaux for the beta.
merelyfic also contributed this amazing piece of art, which says everything I tried to say about Alan in the fic. A picture really does say a thousand words. Go tell her how wonderful and perfect it is!
SHAKEN,
The blossoms of lilac,
And shattered,
The atoms of purple.
Green dip the leaves,
Darker the bark,
Longer the shadows.
Sheer lines of poplar
Shimmer with masses of silver
And down in a garden old with years
And broken walls of ruin and story,
Roses rise with red rain-memories.
May!
In the open world
The sun comes and finds your face,
Remembering all.
- Carl Sandburg, "Follies", Chicago Poems, 1916.
Except now he was. The Starheart overwhelmed him from the inside. Every limb ached. Every synapse sharply tingled. Every muscle spasmed for control of his body. His power flowed from him, flying in every direction, through every organism, through magic and scientific order and all that was right and was not in the world. It was tearing him apart and try as he might, he couldn't do anything to stop it.'>
Alan Scott wasn't accustomed to needing help. He was the one to help others. He wasn't helpless.
Except now he was. The Starheart overwhelmed him from the inside. Every limb ached. Every synapse sharply tingled. Every muscle spasmed for control of his body. His power flowed from him, flying in every direction, through every organism, through magic and scientific order and all that was right and was not in the world. It was tearing him apart and try as he might, he couldn't do anything to stop it.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
"Help! Help!"
Davey Merry's face was in the dirt. Pushed by two older boys going after Davey's apple. Alan watched them while clenching his useless fists at his sides. He wanted to help Davey, but he just didn't see how he could best those big boys. They were at least twice his size.
Today was Alan's first day at Milton School.
It was five weeks since his mother had left, not telling him or his dad where she was going or when she'd return. He reckoned she'd be home soon.
He told his dad about Davey in the barn after school. His dad put his hand on his shoulder, rooting him firmly to the earthen path at his feet. "Why didn't you help him, son?"
Alan looked up at his dad's weather-beaten face. "They were bigger than me. I couldn't have won."
"That don't got nothing to do with it. I'm disappointed in you, son. Thought you had a good sense of what's right." Alan felt a wave of shame wash over him. His father shook his head and went back to work. Alan did the same, but he wondered how trying to fight those boys would've done any good. His mama could have helped him see what to do.
He pushed at the manure with his shovel. He figured wherever she was, it had to be better than here.
The next day at the schoolhouse yard, he went on over to Davey Merry. "Hey, Davey."
"Hey." Davey was frowning. Alan's mind was made up, though. He was going to do the right thing by Davey even if he got his head bashed in for his efforts.
~*~*~*~*~*~
She had a name - Ethel - but afterward Alan always thought of her as "The Widow" because she deserved the kind of respect that came with owning a title.
Alan couldn't remember the first day he met The Widow. He didn't remember the first time he saw her or spoke with her. In fact, he didn't even remember the first time they made love. It all blended together in his mind - the beautiful, passionate, defining summer when he was sixteen and she spread herself open and showed him the world, reading him books in her bed and listening to him tell stories in her garden.
The Widow was not a beautiful woman in the traditional sense. She had red hair which he adored and a nose that seemed too large for her face, even while her brow was too broad. Her eyes were a mischievous gray too old for their years and freckles dotted her skin, even over the parts she kept well covered.
He knew by his father's tastes that beauty was symmetrical, austere and melodious. The Widow was asymmetrical, vibrant and raucous. She laughed too loudly. Her clothes were too bright. Her opinions too bold. She wore glasses too small for her face and she ran a small library for the town out of her home. Part of him wished more people used it, but then he wouldn't have her all to himself.
She'd been educated at Ivy Town before her husband had died in The Great War. She wasn't that much older than Alan, but age wasn't the point anyway. It was her daring that drew him in like a moth to the flame. The way she stood up for herself at the Grange when they'd called her indecent. Her love for Hemingway and the way she'd chosen Alan as her lover.
They were lying naked on the floor of her study, pillows and books piled high around them. He had his head on her belly while her small hand ran through his hair, tracing a pattern he couldn't discern. He was counting her freckles and had currently reached three hundred and twenty seven. She smelled of roses and hay and he wanted to lie there forever, but he knew his father needed him back at the farm. Responsibility tugged at his heart. Alan wanted to stay and play chess, instead he reached up to play with her nipple.
"Why did you come back here?"
The Widow swatted his thigh. It didn't sting. "Come on now, Alan. What kind of question is that?"
"It's my kind of question." From his angle, her chin jutted, blocking his view of her face. He sat up and straddled her, the better to see her response. He felt this answer was important somehow, as though her opinion could somehow either keep him bound here always or set him free.
She regarded his intensity and smiled up at him, cupped his face in her hands. He leaned into her touch.
"I'm needed here. I like being needed." He understood being needed. He liked that too, but he shook his head.
"You have the whole world out there. Aren't you needed there, too?"
She laughed and traced her fingers through the newly grown blond hairs on his chest. It was ridiculous to be proud of them, he knew, but he was just the same.
"Not really. A girl like me has to make her own place in the world and this is mine."
Alan shook his head again. "You could be doing great things. This town doesn't appreciate you -- people don't even come in to read the books."
The Widow was quiet a moment, contemplating. Really thinking about his question, he thought. This was why he loved her. Contemplation was a beautiful thing. "People need a place to belong."
He shook his head yet again; setting his jaw this time. "I don't," he said. "I don't need to belong anywhere. I'm going to do great things for the world. I'm going to be a king of industry and progress." He paused for emphasis and stared into the reflection on her glasses, pronouncing solemnly "Progress can't stand still."
Her eyes lost their sparkle for a moment. "I know. You just remember to be good wherever you go." She slapped his ass and as he leaned down for a kiss, the mischievous glint returned behind her glasses.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Everything was bigger in the Pacific Northwest: the trees, the mountains, the valleys. Alan still couldn't quite believe the Pacific Northern line had chosen his design for their mountain bridge across the Columbia River. It had been a tricky design.
The train line ran through the heart of the Cascade Mountains, it's sharp volcanic peaks looming in the distances while the rocky crevices gave the bridge a precarious perch over the deep ravine forged by the mile wide river. The river itself raged below carrying the rapid waters down to the Pacific Ocean where, he was told, it met fifty foot swells. Here in the valley, the bent and fallen trees - some of which a man could lay down horizontal within the trunk - spoke of the 100-mile-per-hour-plus strong winds that whipped through the valley.
And they'd chosen his bridge to cross this force of nature and carry progress and commerce further into the providential West. Alan swelled with pride. He'd never felt prouder in his life. He'd beaten an established firm to do it, too. A retired Army Corps of Engineers veteran, Matthew Dekker was proven and reliable. His designs were also, in Alan's opinion, thoroughly unimaginative and old fashioned. It was time for new ideas and methods. Time for progress.
The Pacific Northern had even invited him to ride the train for the inaugural trip across his bridge. He shared a car with a young porter named Jimmy who was assigned, he was certain, to keep him entertained. Jimmy pointed out various landmarks as they passed them and gave Alan the history of how the railroad had first come to each area.
Alan had started his trip in San Francisco and the ride through Oregon had taken up the day. It had been overcast throughout the trip, but Alan paid no mind to the clouds. Jimmy was pleasant enough company and he certainly seemed knowledgeable enough. The landscape was beautiful regardless. He'd never seen such trees! He wondered if his mother had ever seen the west coast and how untamed the land was there.
It was twilight when they finally came to his bridge. He knew it's every rivet and strut in his mind, but to see it beneath them as the train plowed across, thrilled his heart. He could hear the wheels of the train churn, and the roar of the water far below the cars.
Jimmy stood tense and erect away from the window. "Afraid of heights?" Alan asked.
"Nah," Jimmy shook his head, "I'm afraid of Dekker. He don't like to lose and rumor has it he's out for revenge."
Alan scoffed. "Please. He's not going to sabotage the line just because he lost a bid. There'll be other bids."
Halfway across the bridge his heart stopped in his chest, as a deafening boom split the air.
Then they were falling freely - the boxcar upturned onto it's side. Alan and Jimmy were thrown across the car and crashed into the other side. Jimmy had hit his head and was bleeding from the gash. Alan clung to a green lantern welded to the wall. Outside past the windows, he could see a blur of green, brown and blue fly past them.
He wondered for a moment if he were going to die.
The impact flung him from the boxcar, lantern and all. He landed in a surprisingly soft patch of mossy earth.
A yard away, Jimmy had been crushed beneath their boxcar. All around him were steel and splintered wood, bits of fabric and bits of bodies, scattered throughout the rocks and trees and the detritus of the train and tracks. The air smelled of dirt and pine and blood. The river rushed and roared out of sight.
Alan vomited.
Then, the lantern began to glow...
~*~*~*~*~*~
"... And I shall shed my light over dark evil, for the dark things cannot stand the light... the light of the Green Lantern!"
~*~*~*~*~*~
"I'm a faster talker than that fellow and I'm going to get that scoop." Irene Miller's voice carried across the broadcast studio.
Irene had been the connection Alan needed to get the sound engineering job at Apex Broadcasting. Now, he was close to the news and could go straight to the action as Green Lantern. He'd told Irene he was an engineer and conveniently left out the part where his training was in structural engineering, rather than in radio waves. He was a quick study and what he couldn't surmise, the ring helped him know.
Irene was a pretty lady. Independent. Exactly what he'd dreamed city girls where like when he'd first moved to Gotham for college. She was the stuff of his dreams and she intimidated him. So, he did his best to hide it.
The ring helped. Wearing the green lantern ring on his finger, he felt as though he could do anything. Help anyone. Best anyone. Nab the criminal. Even get the girl.
Irene, however, was proving elusive. She was just as fast a talker as she claimed to be and she was always running off to put herself into danger to get a story. Ever the newswoman.
With ambitions. He knew she really wanted to be an actress.
And he knew that she'd fallen for the Green Lantern.
Alan, in his stubbornness, hadn't told her they were one and the same. He wanted to win her on his own merits.
He found that keeping up the facade was getting more difficult with each passing day.
Now, she grabbed her handbag and headed for the door. Off to the races before he could even gather his coat and hat.
~*~*~*~*~*~
President Roosevelt had sent him to Glasgow to protect Great Britain against an Axis attack from across the Channel. For such an important task the president had assigned him a partner, The Flash of Keystone City.
The Flash was a handsome fellow. He wore no mask and Alan could evaluate his face clearly, with its straight nose and sparkling blue eyes and thick brown hair. He introduced himself as Jay even though they'd only just met and Alan was wearing a mask. Jay was lean as befitted a runner. He was sharp-tongued, cocky and quick to wear a smile. He didn't seem to take himself or their work seriously and for that Alan found The Flash immensely irritating.
When given the signal, Jay and he stormed the castle where the Nazis were hiding. They found a small contingent of soldiers to oppose them. It seemed confusing to Alan that the British government would request help for such a simple and small force, but it wasn't his place to question where he could help.
The men tried to shoot them, but Jay merely dodged them with his speed while Alan conjured a shield with his ring. Jay gathered the men together and Alan put them neatly in a cage.
He began to question them, then while his back was turned, he heard a mighty roar and before he could turn to see it's source, Jay came barreling into him at superhuman speed. They were both knocked unconscious.
He woke to find himself and Jay bound behind Hitler as he spoke on a dais in Nazi Berlin.
"Well, Flash, this is a fine kettle we're in. How do you suppose we save the day, now?"
The Flash was grinning. They were captured by Nazis and he was still carefree.
He'd never seen anything quite like it when Hourman and Doctor Fate swooped in to rescue them while with the Spear of Destiny itself, Hitler unleashed the Valkyries.
Alan had never fought goddesses before. But, he'd never fought with other heroes by his side, either.
He found the Flash wasn't laughing anymore. And though the Valkyries fought on winged horses and the battle was in the skies, Jay had brought himself into the air with the power of kinetics and was fighting valiantly by his side.
Once the Valkyries disappeared, vanquished in their mission, Alan and his companions returned to Great Britain to finish the job they had started. Only to see when they'd reached the Cliffs of Dover that Hawkman, The Atom, Sandman and The Spectre had finished it for them.
The people were safe, the Nazis captured and he and The Flash had made a good team.
When it was all said and done, he shook Jay's hand.
"I'm pleased to meet you, Jay. I'm Alan."
~*~*~*~*~*~
His morning paper was spread out before him. A pile of donuts on a plate on his table. A cup of coffee next to it. His pipe and tobacco nearby.
Doiby Dickles sat next to him in the parlor. His derby still on his head - the cab driver was never without it.
People believed Doiby amused him, and he was chagrined to admit that was so. More importantly, Doiby challenged his assumptions. Kept him honest. Kept him humble.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Jay Garrick's bachelor pad wasn't a bachelor pad. When Alan had first heard that Jay lived with his girlfriend, he'd been more than a little scandalized. And impressed.
When he finally met the lady in question, he was charmed more than anything else. Joan Williams kept up with Jay in every way but running. She may even have run a few proverbial laps around him.
Today, they were discussing American poetry and the debate was getting heated.
Alan favored T.S. Eliot, Joan favored Walt Whitman, while Jay argued for Carl Sandburg.
"Whitman is sensuous. Those two wouldn't know a visceral reaction if it knocked them in the patootie."
"Hmph. Whitman's meter is horrific. Sure, he can describe a feeling, but where's the beauty of his structure? It's pathetic."
"Not as pathetic as Eliot's ostentatious intellectualism. Full of philosophical mumbo-jumbo. Poetry should be for everyone. It shouldn't all be about immortality in the abstract. We can get the same sentiment from just everyday life. That's why Sandburg's the best; he's got the structure and he's accessible."
"Yeah, but he's austere," Joan challenged. "Where's the fun in the that?"
~*~*~*~*~*~
It was hard to leave Apex, but Alan had to do it. He wanted to be closer to the Justice Society. He wanted to be closer to his friends.
Of course, the job at Gotham Broadcasting was easy to arrange and Doiby agreed without hesitation to accompany him to Gotham.
With Irene, it was a more difficult goodbye.
She slapped him. When he stood unfazed, she began beating against his chest.
"How dare you! How dare you!" She repeated it in a litany, as though he had somehow learned not to dare.
She couldn't understand and he couldn't tell her the truth, of course.
Instead, she raged and when her rage was spent, she sat defeated with her impotence to change his mind.
"At least, give me a good reason."
He didn't have one - none he could tell her anyway.
She sneered, "And all along, I thought there might be something human to you. How I was wrong!"
~*~*~*~*~*~
Alan could feel every ache and pain in his body, including a few splinters he wasn't sure would come out of his shoulder. His costume was tattered and there was blood on his hands, though it wasn't his. Carter was off with the Doc; Sheira refused to leave his side. He watched them as they headed to the Infirmary, her hand in his, her shoulder supporting his slumping weight.
Their bond was legendary.
Jay sat down beside Alan with a huff. He was dirty - filthy even. Grease mingled with blood and dirt had smudged his face and hands. The yellow lightning bolt on his shirt was muddied to a dark brown. His jeans were worn and Alan thought he might have seen a few bullet holes through the fabric even.
Jay took off his boots and emptied them of the dirt and pebbles. He laid them aside. Next he removed his hat, spit on it and pulling out a handkerchief, he began to polish the metal. Alan tried not to laugh, but failed.
"What's so funny?" Jay frowned at him.
"You. You're funny. You look ridiculous!"
"I don't look ridiculous!" But Jay did look ridiculous. His hat hair lay flat on his head, somehow untouched by the dirt and grime on the rest of him. There was a perfect circle marking the difference between clean and dirty. His face and neck were almost as red as his shirt. Alan laughed even harder, doubling over.
Finally, he recovered enough to manage to say, "You better get cleaned up before you go home to Joan like that."
Jay smiled at that. "Joan'll have me in whatever form I come in, but yeah, I'll smarten up for her first." He winked at Alan then and disappeared with a rush of wind, presumably headed to the showers.
~*~*~*~*~*~
The yellow and black vertical striped stockings on the well-shaped legs flashed before him as the wooden mandolin came crashing down on his head. He felt the shocking pain then blacked out, still seeing those glorious gams.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Sensation overwhelmed his mind and thoughts rushed out in a haze. Immersed and surrounded, Alan had never before felt such charity, such mercy. He wondered how they managed not to make him feel apart. They weren't his even as he was theirs, but he never felt alone with Jay and Joan.
He opened his eyes to Joan's open lashes and Jay's vibrating smile.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Alan was surprised to get the distress call from Jay over his JSA communicator. Joan had been attacked by the Thorn. Put out to sea on a bubble waiting to burst. Jay had rescued her from disaster just in time. Now, he needed Alan's help to transport the Thorn's alter-ego to Queen Hippolyta's island for criminal Amazons.
The girl was pretty with blonde hair and blue eyes. He never would have recognized her as the red haired Thorn. Jay explained that Rose's personality had been magically split and now she - Rose - wanted to reform. Wonder Woman had offered her a means to do it. The girl would travel to Transformation Island and be tended by Myra, the Priestess of Aphrodite. She could stay as long as was necessary - forever if needed - the magic of the island would keep her youthful until she was cured and able to return to Man's World once again.
Only, Jay needed to tend to Joan and Her Majesty was with Wildcat, busy fighting the Huntress. Alan was to fly Rose to the island, but not to land on it himself.
He carried her close to his body, careful not to harm her. She seemed delicate to him in this form - not at all like the treacherous Thorn. Rose didn't smell like roses, though; she smelled of honeysuckle.
They flew in silence, the rhythmic rise and fall of the ocean beneath them.
"Do you really think she can help me? You can't imagine how much I hate what my sister does?"
Her sister? It took Alan a moment to remember that though they were the same person, Rose had deluded herself into believing the Thorn to be her sister. Alan hardened his heart and reminded himself the girl and the villainess were one and the same.
"True. I can't imagine choosing to take life instead of save it."
Rose tightened her grip around his waist. "Neither can I, Mister Green Lantern. I'm a botanist - I help life to thrive and grow." She shuddered. "I hate her, you know. And now, I'm going to prison." Silent tears streaked down her cheeks.
His heart softened despite himself. "Wonder Woman and the Amazons will take care of you, Rose. You're not going to prison. You're going to get help."
She tucked her head into his cape and they flew the rest of the way in silence again.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Dignified. Proud. Unashamed. Alan reminded himself that he possessed these qualities as he stood with his colleagues. His friends. The Justice Society of America.
The mystery men and women had been called before Senator Joe McCarthy's House UnAmerican Activities Committee. The HUAC wanted them to remove their masks to prove their loyalty. Insisted on it. Despite that Jay and Polly never wore a mask. Despite all the times the JSA had saved them from hell, damnation and Hitler.
They'd held an emergency meeting. They decided to face this public humiliation, but rather than unmask, they would disband the JSA and individually retire.
Standing before the Committee and speaking directly to the Senators, Carter spoke well for them all as their Chairman. Alan supposed that sometimes it helped to have been Pharaoh.
~*~*~*~*~*~
The air was thinner on the rooftop. Alan had never really noticed that before today. If he were up this high, it was usually inside one of his bubble constructs and the richness of the air wasn't a concern. Today, he was finding it hard to breathe.
Perhaps, it had nothing to do with the air density. The Harlequin knelt on a green fire-constructed cushion before him, her mouth hot and encompassing. She still wore her spectacles, and maybe this was an illusion. If it was, he didn't care.
It felt amazing. Dangerous and forbidden and just right.
He gripped her red hair in his hands, the thick strands threading soft across his fingers. Her cone hat was askew.
Alan admired the arch of her bare shoulder. It dipped and swayed, a perfect cliff of possibility leading down her muscled back on one side, down to her luscious bosom on the other.
Her fingers, gloved in blue-dyed soft kid leather, gently kneaded. So gentle.
It was shocking to think this criminal could be so gentle. She was such a bad girl.
And he was a good man. Yet, here he was, vulnerable in her embrace.
There had been a bank robbery. Not a supervillain, just a lowly thug and Alan had thought it an easy capture. Until the thug had pulled a loose chair leg for a makeshift weapon.
Alan was vulnerable to wood and despite his best efforts, the thug had deflected Alan's blows and constructs to knock him against the wooden wall. Dazed, the thug would have escaped if not for the Harlequin and her illusions.
She'd called the thug competition and laughed off her help, but Alan was grateful despite her protests. He'd insisted on a rooftop meeting. To his surprise, she'd agreed. And here they were.
He lifted her up with his hands, her cushion disappearing beneath her and kissed her hard, their teeth clanging together with the force of their passion.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Alan wasn't entirely sure he was completely under the spell of the Harlequin's illusions. Some part of him wanted to marry her just as much as she apparently did him. He wondered, momentarily, if it would have been legal. Two costumed heroes marrying in their heroing identities.
Except how she was a villainess, not a hero.
He tended sometimes to forget that point. He'd begun to find it hard to believe. She'd helped him so many times.
So, when she'd kissed him and said she loved him, he'd thought it was real.
"I love you, too," he'd said and meant it.
"Marry me," he'd said and meant it.
Yet, his ring had rejected her. How could her goodness be an illusion? Maybe there was something wrong with his ring...
~*~*~*~*~*~
"Well, Alan. I guess this is it. Ramia and me, we're settin' off for Myrg tomorrow. I still can't believe I'm the one got hitched. And to a space princeress!"
Doiby grinned at him from beneath his derby hat.
"Yes, well... you know, I wish you both all the best. Nobody deserves happiness more than you, Doiby."
Alan put his hand on Doiby's shoulder and squeezed, hoping he'd successfully hidden the regret he felt. He would miss Doiby. His mother's imagined face flashed in his mind, but she wasn't smiling, benevolent. She was harsh and judging and he knew he'd disappointed her.
He missed everyone who left him.
~*~*~*~*~*~
The bodies plagued his nightmares. "MADE OF WOOD" carved into their chests, the victims had been left in Robinson Park and called upon by the GCPD, Alan had been unable to solve the mystery of their murders. He only knew they were directed toward him.
Gotham's criminals were making him the reason for their crimes now. They were trying to make him the cause of their evil doings.
He was not the cause.
He rubbed his ring. It felt so sure and solid on his finger. Like it belonged.
When he first started using the ring, he'd simply hit people with a green beam. It took him a while to realize he could command it to do other things. Bind crooks where they stood. Instantly know their dastardly plans. Walk through walls. Fly. Create objects with his mind. He was limited only by his imagination.
And wood. Though it took him a while to realize his weakness, too.
He considered what else the ring could do. Could it show him who murdered the people in the park? Could it root them out? Instantly incarcerate them? What about every other evil being, thought and deed in the world?
Couldn't he just wish it all away? With the magic of his ring.
The thought made him shudder. He thought of the Spectre wielding the might of God's vengeance. Tempered by Jim Corrigan, his friend, the man.
His green ring felt hot on his finger, as though it burned him with it's flames. Alan took it off and dropped the weapon into his pocket.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Alan stared at the notice on his desk, his head in his hands, completely unaware of the time passing him by - he didn't know what to do. This wasn't the JSA, there was no hiding behind masks. He couldn't walk away from this one. His writers were being attacked.
He saw his company in his mind, everyone from the janitors to the engineers to the performers to the program managers. All in his hands. The HUAC knew their names. Would they sacrifice their co-workers, their friends?
For their families. Alan hung his head.
They were all relying on his protection. How could he protect them from a witch hunt? His stomach churned.
He called his lawyer; Arnold King could talk his way out of anything, find a loophole in a tapestry. Alan asked after his wife and children, made the proper pleasantries and then got to the heart of the matter.
"Trouble's brewing. It's my writers... Give it to me straight, how can I fight this?"
Arnold hesitated. "Alan, honestly, I don't think you can. You're going to have to let them go."
That was unacceptable. "I intend to stand behind my employees. They're good writers... good men."
"You'll find other writers, Alan." Arnold's tone was firm, as though arguing with a mule.
"Fire them?" Alan was incredulous. There had to be a different way.
"Yes. It's better - safer for you."
"Dammit Arnold, when have I ever played it safe?" Alan hung up on him. He'd have to find a new attorney. Maybe Terry Sloane, though he didn't want to involve the Justice Society. The further they stayed away from this the better.
He refused to fail them, absolutely refused to fail his employees and their families. Not like he'd failed Gotham.
He fingered the ring in his pocket. So familiar and comfortable. He couldn't take that kind of power onto himself again.
Instead, he'd visit Opal City and Ted Knight. As ridiculous as it was, Ted had already been through this. Called before the HUAC, despite his work on the Manhattan Project. Because, he'd regretted it and spoken freely. Teddy would know what to do.
The green ring felt heavy in his pocket.
~*~*~*~*~*~
He found Ted scribbling furiously on a chalkboard, calculations and trajectories. Maps to the heavens and the power of the universe. In chalk. To be erased at the whim of a man who'd lost his mind. Because he'd felt responsible for the deaths of thousands. Because his imagination had helped to produce a terrible weapon.
Of course, the facilities' staff had given Alan explicit instructions not to mention Ted's work with Robert Oppenheimer. Alan had every intention of honoring that request. He didn't want to cause his friend further harm.
Alan waited a moment for Ted to notice him, but he was too involved in his work. Or, maybe he just wasn't as observant as he used to be. "Ted."
Ted seemed startled. His eyes wide, they focused on Alan slowly, as though adjusting to gazing on an actual person was difficult.
Then a grin broke wide and in two strides, he was embracing Alan in a bear hug. When he finally parted, Ted said, "How are you, old friend? It's been so long since I've seen you." He didn't seem to realize he was greeting Alan in his dressing gown and slippers, interred in an asylum.
Alan returned a rueful smile. Never one to beat about the bush and fearing his time with Ted would be all too short, he got straight to the point. "I wish I were better, Ted. They're coming after my company. The HUAC."
Ted shook his head, gestured for Alan to come in and find a seat and went back to his chalk board. He stared at it for what would have felt like too long, if Alan hadn't known him so well. Instead, Alan took the time to sit in one of the chairs in Ted's cell.
Finally, "Have you told them? Do you they know who you are? Who you were?"
"I haven't told them anything, yet, Ted. They're going after my writers; some of them have had communist affiliations in the past."
"It used to mean a different thing, didn't it? Socialism was different before the war."
"Now Ted, you know I don't care for the politics of it. Either side has got their story and their agenda. It's my writers. My company. All those people counting on me... I can't let them down. I can't let them break me." He didn't say, "like they did you"; it wasn't needed.
Ted began to erase the work on his board. Alan watched his back, curious what scientific marvels were disappearing with the chalk.
"You know what it's like when they question your loyalty, integrity and honor. You know how we felt." Ted turned then and looked at him. "It's worse when they use your own name, Alan... It's just worse."
Ted sat down beside Alan then and took his hand. "Have you thought of using the ring?"
Now, here they were finally to the crux of the matter. "Yes, of course I have."
Ted waited for Alan to reveal the rest of his chosen course of action.
"I'm not going to use it. I'm not even wearing it."
Ted blinked, clearly stunned. "You could change it all with your ring, you know. You've saved the world countless times over. There's no Spear of Destiny keeping you from protecting your employees. It's not as though your motivations are selfish. Where would the harm be, Alan?" He squeezed his hand then for emphasis. "Where?"
Alan jerked his hand away. Stood and walked to the window, looking directly out to the thousands of shimmering stars casting their light into the room.
He couldn't look at Ted while he said this, but it had to be said. It couldn't remain unspoken. "You know better than anybody that the road to hell was paved with good intentions."
Ted stayed very still behind him. Alan could hear his own heart beating in his chest while his pulse pounded in his ears. It had to be said. Ted would have to face it sometime. He needed to face it to get better, Alan rationalized and ignored the twinge of guilt from his conscience. He fingered the green ring in his pocket. "You think the atomic bomb was bad? How many thousands did that kill? It's nothing, Ted! A small drop of what I can do! I start meddling with people's minds like I did in the beginning... I could tear this planet apart by willing it to be so! With the spear gone, there's nothing to stop me now! Nothing at all! And you think I should put the damn thing on and use it? You think I should start down that path because right now all I want to do is help my writers and their families and all the people who depend on their work for their livelihoods. I should go mucking about in people's heads? Because I can! I can do an infinite number of things! Things to truly harness the stars! Things to make your little bomb look like child's play!"
There was a longer silence following Alan's tirade. He felt righteous and terrible and guilty. He stood there clenching and unclenching his fists until he could be sure he wouldn't lash out further at his friend. It was a full five minutes before he dared turn around to see Ted's face.
He was regarding him intently and his eyes were sad, his shoulder's slumped. Ted stood and walked to Alan. Each footfall strong and purposeful. When he reached him, Ted moved his arm to Alan's shoulder and squeezed.
"Alan Scott, you are a pompous and narcissistic fool. If you don't want to use your ring that's fine. But, let's not make it more than what it is. Cowardice." Alan felt his blood boil, but Ted continued undeterred. "You're afraid of what you can do. Whether that's right or not depends on your own good will. I'd be a fool to doubt that and I'm only sometimes a fool. You're right though, you don't need powers to help your people; you can solve this with good old-fashioned wits. I believe in you, old friend. Now, my mistakes are my own and no one else's." With that, his eyes hardened into steel and his voice turned cold. "Now, get out and don't come see me again."
"Ted, I--"
"I said, "Go!""
Suitably chastised, Alan stepped away from Ted and left contrite with the pain he'd caused his friend. Ted was right; he was a pompous fool. Though, Ted was wrong about the ring; the temptation to do what Alan thought best was too strong. As powerful as Ted was, he doubted even Ted understood what it felt like to read and control people's thoughts. Perhaps, Kent Nelson would have been a better choice of confidante?
It didn't matter now. His mind was obviously made up; he would face the HUAC as a man as nature intended, rather than with magical powers.
~*~*~*~*~*~
"What should we do, Molly?" It may have been out of the ordinary to ask his secretary her opinion, but Alan thought Molly Mayne was anything but ordinary. She'd been his secretary since he'd been in charge of Gotham Broadcasting. She'd provided needed cover for his Green Lantern activities and never asked any questions. She was sharp as a tack with the books and insightful about the employees. She was even, he admitted to himself, quite pleasant on the eyes, if a little skinny. That was an intangible plus he enjoyed. He couldn't imagine the office without her.
Molly sat on the edge of the table, her red hair tied in a practical braid behind her head. Her freckles stood out under the fluorescent lights of the office. She was biting her lip as she ran her hand over her brow and up into her hair. She always did that while thinking.
"Well, what did Arnold say?"
"Arnold's an idiot. He'd cut the heads off his children to save his own skin."
Molly raised her eyebrows. Alan knew he sounded vitriolic, but he was still seething with how Arnold had counseled him to fire his employees to save himself. Molly patted his arm.
"Not good advice then, I take it. Let's be sure to think of something else, then." She smiled softly, her eyes gentle and keen.
"The HUAC wants GBS to give up our writers, huh?" Alan nodded. "They threatened to come directly for the company next?" Alan nodded again.
"Well, than lets be sure there's no company for them to take." Alan jumped to his feet and began to pace. Molly's eyes followed him.
"Molly have you lost your mind? That won't solve a thing."
"Why not? If we dissolve the radio station, it won't be vulnerable to an attack."
"And none of us will have jobs, not just the writers!"
Molly grinned, sly. "Sure we will... at the television station, WGBS!" She giggled like it was a big secret she'd finally been allowed to reveal.
Alan was skeptical. "Is that legal?"
"I'm not sure," Molly acknowledged. "I could put Arnold - or some other qualified individual - to work on it right away..."
Alan considered a moment. It couldn't hurt to investigate the possibility, at least. "Do it, but let's go through what other options we might have, also..."
Dutifully, Molly turned to her notepad for transcription.
~*~*~*~*~*~
His hat flew off his head, carried down the street by the wind. Alan ran after it, but it landed neatly by the Sprang River. No sign of Jay anywhere.
~*~*~*~*~*~
He stood at the window, watching the hustle and bustle of Gotham beneath him. He loved this city - she was more vibrant than any other city on the east coast - and that included Manhattan.
Molly cleared her throat behind him. "You look tense." He could feel her hands through his suit jacket kneading his shoulders. She was such a tall woman, he marveled at her reaching them so easily. Until he realized she shouldn't be touching him at all.
He turned around and her hands landed neatly on his lapels. "Molly, please..." He didn't need to say this; she knew what was professional and what was not.
"Please, what?" Her green eyes pleaded with him. He shook his head.
"No, Molly." She lifted her chin up high and stepped away from him.
"Fine. I just thought... " She let it hang, the air heavy between them.
"Just thought what?"
She pinched her lips together. "Just thought you might be human, that's all."
Molly put her hand on his heart, then she spun on her heels and left the office, closing the big double doors behind her.
That evening when he left work, he found her desk empty.
On it was an envelope addressed to "Mr. Scott". He picked it up gingerly, as though afraid of a little paper cut.
Molly's resignation letter. He wasn't going to see her again.
The next morning, he leaned his head against the windows of his office, but this time he didn't see Gotham at all. Only lost possibilities.
ON TO PART TWO!