One moment, she's in Bete Noire. The next, she's in the middle of the street in Leesburg, Virginia.
There is the sound of squealing tires as a semi slams on brakes, trying to avoid hitting the cloaked figure that appeared in front of it. With a push of energy downwards, Lee leaps into the air and the truck skids to a stop right on top of the place she'd stood a moment before. She floats above the cab as the driver leaps out, looking up at her in shocked surprise.
"Holy shit," Lee mutters. The words have nothing to do with the truck. They have everything to do with the familiar city surrounding her.
She had been in Bete Noire. Enoch. The city she chose to protect. The place she ran to hide. Until they came: Constantine, Zatanna, Zauriel, Gemma Masters and Doctor Fate. Until everything blew up around them, forcing a showdown with those who served the city. With the City itself.
She was prepared to face the nightmare her existence would now be. She's always prepared for that sort of suffering. She seeks it. A form of self-punishment. Some might call it a death wish.
In the end, they won. She wasn't sure how. She didn't understand what happened. In the end, Fate sent them all home. Unfortunately, the magic assumed where that was for the Fallen Angel.
She flies further skyward and off to the west, looking for a specific neighborhood. A specific house. When she finds it, she lands on a nearby rooftop and just watches. No one is home. No one is moving around. Yet she can't stop staring at the building.
This is where she grew up. Well, part of her. The part that was human. She was raised by loving parents. She followed the path of light until that light proved it was darkness. Then she turned from that path, into the darkness herself. She died. But the part of her that is alien gave itself to save her, although she didn't deserve to be saved. They joined, became something else. They were back on the path of light. It turned out to be a path of Fire, something she would have expected to be a tool of darkness. But His methods have reason, even if the people here don't always understand them. She learned that. She gave of herself. Sacrificed. Surrendered her power to another who was worthy and then returned to the life she'd led before He had chosen her. It was a good life. A Super life. A hero's life.
Then in another moment of sacrifice, she gained everything she ever wanted--and lost it all.
She doesn't let herself think about it. To think about them. To think about them makes her hurt. It makes her want to scream and rage against a world who would do that to her. Against a God who would make her suffer. Who would do that to her. So she fights. She strikes out. She plays god in her own way, picking and choosing who gets help and who doesn't. She tries to be numb, to not let anyone inside. No one can see the real woman. No one can care for if they care, she might. Then they might be stolen away. She's filled with pity. But not really for others anymore. It is all reserved and turned inward.
God, what has she been doing? She has been denying the pain, the hurt. She hasn't let herself move through the process of loss that will allow renewal and rebirth. It's been long enough. It is time to release self-pity. It is time to grieve. Grieve for a lost husband and child.
She lets herself remember as she sinks down to her knees. Her face is buried in her hands, racking sobs tearing through her.