JLU: Kaddish (4/4)
***
Kaddish (4/4)
a Justice League Unlimited story
by Merlin Missy
Copyright 2005
PG
***
Chapter Three
***
Chapter Four
***
A few hours later, his doorbell rang.
Groggily, Wally stumbled to the door in his dark apartment and opened it. It was Clark, and it was easy to think of him as "Clark" since he was all glasses and suit and stuff.
"Can I come in?"
Wally blinked the sleep out of his eyes. "Depends." But he wasn't quite awake enough to form a good comeback on what the "depends" was, so he just stood aside and said, "Sure."
Clark came in, and Wally clicked on the too-bright light. His place was a mess, but his place was usually a mess, and he knew he wouldn’t have cleaned anyway. He pushed past the other man to get to the refrigerator.
"Beer?"
"Do you have any pop?"
Pop? "Soda? Yeah. Hold on." Wally pulled two Cokes from the 'fridge and handed one to Clark. Then he sat at the little two-legged thing that attached to the wall under his window that he called his table. Clark joined him.
I'm sitting in my kitchen at midnight drinking soda with Superman.
"Thanks," Clark said politely as he opened his can and took a drink.
"Are you here to lecture me?"
"What? No. Why? Do you want me to?"
Wally shrugged. "Just figured you would. Why are you here?"
"Your comm is off, you're not answering your phone. I was worried."
"I'm off-duty. Right? Only you're not, and Diana's not and J'onn and Bats aren't. Just me."
"It's not just you."
"Right. Vixen too. Well great. Thanks. Now everyone is thinking I was sleeping with one of them, and if I'm very lucky, they're saying it was Shayera."
"Nobody thinks that."
"I don't care what they think, okay? I don't. Care." He sat back in his chair. "Are you here to tell me I'm not one of the 'five permanent chairs' at the table anymore?"
"No." Nothing but honesty in his eyes.
"But you talked about it. The three of you."
"We talked about a lot of things. We talked about disbanding. That always seems to come up, doesn't it?"
"Yeah." And every time, the same spectre: the League fractured into twos and threes and lots of solo players, all getting picked off by a group of villains who could learn from example about playing together. It had happened, the one time the original League had split under Grodd's direction. That led to bad thoughts, memories, and Wally shoved them away, as he had been shoving them all away.
"Have you talked to Vixen?"
Wally shook his head. "Why?"
"No one else has, either. Zatanna and Barda went over to her apartment building, but the doorman wouldn't let them in. He said she isn't receiving visitors, whatever that means to you."
"She's not going to want to see any of us. Not yet."
"I know. But someone's going to have to clean out John's apartment. Diana and I boxed up Shayera's things this morning."
"You … Oh." Another hurt, one he wasn't expecting. "What are you … Who … "
"We're not sure yet. If you have any ideas, that'd help. It seems like we should give some of them to Carter, but I'd prefer not to."
"How much did she have?"
"Not much. Mostly clothes. She didn't collect things."
"No."
"I was thinking maybe we should give the clothes to a shelter, or Goodwill."
"I think she'd be okay with that."
Clark reached into his pocket and pulled out a snowglobe. "Did you give this to her?"
"Yeah." There'd been a Christmas where he'd run out of ideas and everyone had gotten snowglobes. He stared at Shayera's globe, realization creeping in that Clark had brought it back to him to keep.
They sat. They drank their sodas. When the cans were empty, Wally brought two more.
Wally asked, "Do you know if John had any family left?"
"A couple of second and third cousins. We were his family."
Wally nodded, the lump in his throat refusing to dissolve no matter how much soda he drank. "I'll call Vixen. We'll take care of it."
"Good. Tell her how sorry we all are."
"For which part?"
Clark's eyes flickered. "Don't bring that up."
"Everyone heard." John had opened his comm to coordinate back with the rest, telling them Shayera had been trapped in the initial blast, and he'd forgotten to shut it off. Everyone, including Vixen, had heard Shayera plead with him to leave her there, had heard his reply, had heard what was almost certainly a kiss. What should have been a private moment between them had been shared with the entire League, and then the second, much bigger blast had gone off.
"I've got superhearing. I've overheard plenty of conversations I've had to pretend I never noticed."
"Mari's not stupid."
"I'm not saying she is. I'm saying, don’t make this even more painful for her than it already has to be."
"I wasn't planning on it." Wally finished his Coke loudly and Clark got the hint, draining his in one gulp and then standing.
"Thanks for the pop."
"You're welcome."
"Oh, before I forget. You've got watch Friday morning shift, main Watchtower. Bruce says don't be late." There was a hint of a smile on Clark's face as he reached the door.
"He would," said Wally, not trusting his own face for a real smile yet, but for the first time in forever, almost ready for one. "Good-night, Clark."
"Good-night, Wally."
***
Mid-morning. Mari knew it by the light coming from her alarm clock. The rest of her loft was enshrouded in darkness; the curtains had been drawn for days; the lamps were darkened; a scrap of light crept around from the clock and that was all to indicate the time of day or night.
The phone rang again, and she knew why she'd wakened. She lay in her bed, surrounded by pillows, listening to the muted ring from the phone in her kitchenette, the only one she hadn't turned off. After three rings, the machine picked up, and that she hadn't turned down so her own voice echoed through her home: "You've reached 847-8804. Please leave a message." She'd stopped saying her name on her machine after the first Sports Illustrated shoot.
The Flash started talking. "Hey, Vix. It's Flash. I don't know if you're screening your calls or what. I'll give you a sec to pick up if you are. Um. Not that you wouldn't be screening me too. You know what? I'll be there in a minute, so I hope you're home and I hope your doorman doesn't shoot me. Okay?" There was a pause, perhaps while he waited for her reply, and then a click.
She stayed in bed, watching the alarm clock's tiny pulse as it counted the seconds. Ten passed and there was a knock on her door.
"It's me." A pause. "Are you in there?" Another pause. "Look, I think you're there. Can you please open the door?" She waited. "I need to talk, and I think you need to talk to me too. I mean," she heard a slight thump, like someone resting his head against her door, "we both loved him, right? Not the same way," he said quickly, "but you know what I mean. And I think your security is coming up the elevator right now, and while I can kick their asses, I'm not gonna. Please open the door."
She stared at the ceiling, and then slid out from under the covers. Her robe was on the floor where she'd left it, and she tied the knot at her waist.
"Hey, guys," said the Flash from outside her door. "I'm just here to see my friend. I'm not here to make trouble."
Mari unlocked her door and opened it.
"Morning, Ms. Macabe," said Harry. He'd been one of two security guards for the building over the past five years, and his daughter Laura had an autographed poster of Mari on her wall and he'd always been polite. "Are you all right?"
She nodded. She looked at Flash, then stood back and allowed enough room for him to come inside. When he didn't come in, she grabbed his arm and shoved him. Then she smiled at Harry as best she could, and nodded a little, and shut the door behind her. She clicked on the light switch, letting the lamps cast a warm glow around her loft.
Flash stood in the living room - she'd set up tall, billowy gauze and muslin curtains around her bed and dresser to make a rose-tinted bedroom to one side - staring but not poking at her things. She wondered if he thought the spare decorations were a sign of grief. She wondered if he'd expected blown-up prints of covers she'd done, or images from her better work in frames, instead of the two black and white Japanese abstracts to either side of her entertainment center, which were the only items on her walls at all.
Mari patted the couch for him, went into the kitchenette, started the coffeemaker, came back, found him still staring at her two pictures, looking back and forth between them like he was trying to discern the shape of some riddle.
She sighed. There was no riddle, nothing deeper than that she'd seen the prints and liked them and bought them. Sometimes art was just art, pretty for the sake of being pretty.
She sat down, patting the seat beside her again. Flash sat down.
"Hi," he said, finally.
She twitched her mouth. It wasn't a smile, wasn't anything but an acknowledgment that he'd spoken.
"You're not doing good with this."
Mari shook her head. No use lying.
"Me neither."
She nodded. Then she reached out and patted his hand. He was right: they'd both loved John in their own ways. Plus, while Mari had liked Shayera, Flash had loved her, and he'd spent time with Metamorpho, far more than Mari herself had. Rex Mason had been John's oldest friend in the League, and one of his oldest friends, period, and now even that link to John was gone.
"I miss him," said Flash. "And I miss her. I think I'm going to miss Metamorpho, but it feels … " He looked away from her, up at the pictures again, and then at the floor. "It feels like I don't have any room left to feel anything else, you know?"
She nodded again. She knew.
"Anyway. Superman came to see me last night, and he said." Flash stopped, and he breathed. "He and Diana cleaned out Shayera's room. We need to clean out John's apartment."
Mari closed her eyes. This was real, then. John wasn't going to appear in a sudden flash of green light tonight, and tell her it was all a mistake, and sweep her up and hold her close. She was going to go with this kid who'd for no apparent reason been John's best friend in the world, and she was going to pack up John's things and put them away, and she was going to have to see if John even had a lawyer and a will, and John was gone and the world should mourn its beloved dead.
She opened her eyes again, saw him watching her, and she nodded once. She would dress and they would go.
From the kitchen, the coffeemaker began to percolate, sputtering and muttering like some small god of drains stirring at last to life.
***
"Hey, Grandpa."
There was a long pause. "Kyle?"
"Yeah, Grandpa. It's Kyle. How've you been?"
"Where are you? Why haven't you come to see me?"
Kyle changed his hold on the phone. "I've been out of town, Grandpa."
"It's been four years."
"Did you get the letters I sent?"
"I got 'em. Postmark was from Detroit."
"Yeah. Yeah, I ... went through there sometimes." His first lie, and he stuttered through it badly.
"You could've come to see me."
"I want to. I ... Will you be home this weekend?"
"I can be. You remember the way."
"Yeah. I remember. Grandpa?"
"Yes, boy?"
"Is there anything you need? I've got ... " Not much, to be frank. "I can get things now. I'm doing good."
"No. Just come. Unless you've got a girlfriend. You can bring her."
"No girl," Kyle said, smiling a little sadly. "Maybe now that I'm settling down."
"Okay. Come Saturday morning."
"Early. I'll be there. Love you, Grandpa."
"Kyle." Grandpa never said "I love you," and that was fine. "Bye." Grandpa hung up the phone and Kyle closed his.
He hadn't been up to the cabin in years, but he knew Grandpa always had solid staples stashed away. Kyle could bring perishables and they could sit on the porch eating ice milk and drinking beer and that would be a perfect weekend.
But before then, Kyle had a project to finish.
***
It wasn't as bad as Wally'd feared. Vixen had a key. Wally picked up the spare from its usual place and gave it to her without a word. She clasped both keys together in her palm. She'd give them back to the landlady when the apartment was finally emptied.
John kept everything so very neat. He always had. So the records were in their proper sleeves and were alphabetized. The bathroom was clean. So was the refrigerator, despite the food, which Wally packed up for his own home. Never let food go to waste, said the voice of his grammy in his head, and Wally never had.
He set the unrefrigerated food on the dark orange couch next to the boxes of records and books, then helped Vixen finish pulling the videos. John didn't own a lot of dvds since he'd only recently broken down and bought a player.
He packed the bathroom stuff, allowing Vixen to take the corner set aside for the bedroom. He didn't want to ask how familiar she was with that place, didn't want to be there as she stripped the sheets from the bed, emptied John's clothes from his drawers, took his suits from their hangers in the wardrobe.
The bathroom was weird enough.
He found a small bottle of shampoo and another bottle of conditioner. He figured both were probably Vixen's, and he set them aside politely. No shampoo for John, not for over two years now. A sliver of soap left in the shower, five bars left in a pack under the sink. Tissues. Half a tube of toothpaste, rolled firmly from the end. Shaving cream. Beard trimmer. Razor with blades. Nail clipper. Stick of deodorant, and another stick of a ladies' brand that he set beside the shampoo. Another look through the shower located a pink razor, which went into Vixen's box.
The shower curtain was free from mold or buildup; Wally thought about swiping it to replace his own, which so wasn't. He left the shower curtain, and the rest of the toilet paper. Two boxes in hand, he brought everything back out to the pile on the couch.
Have to bring the van back and find someone to take the furniture. For a moment, he thought maybe the new Lantern might need a couch, and then he pushed the thought away angrily. He looked over to see how Vixen was doing.
In the corner, John's closet door was open, and looked empty. His top dresser drawer was open and full of socks and underwear. Vixen sat on the still-made bed, knees pulled against her chest, holding herself tightly and staring.
"Hey," he said, as gently as he could. When she didn't respond, he went a little closer, but knew better than to sit on the bed with her. He spotted a chair against the wall, grabbed it, and sat down in front of her.
"Vixen, maybe you should go pack the stereo. I can handle this."
If she heard him, she didn't show it. She kept staring at the open drawer. Wally had heard of people going crazy after someone they loved died. When he'd lost his grandmother, his last living relative, he'd been inconsolable for weeks. There'd been kids at the orphanage, especially the newer arrivals, who were practically catatonic.
He placed a gloved hand on her shoulder. "Vixen? Mari?"
"I hate him."
The words were cold in the air, held there. It was the first thing she'd said to him all day.
"I hate him so much." She wasn't crying, but he could hear the pain in her voice, so deep it must've tickled her feet.
"You don't mean that," he soothed.
"He never intended to stay. I thought he did. He made me think he would. But as soon as she needed him, he was gone. She whistled, he went running, and I didn't even register on his radar."
Wally wanted to say something, try to console her, and there was nothing he could say. Even had John walked out of that building alive, there was only a slim chance Vixen wouldn't have dumped him that same day. Instead, he hadn't walked out and she'd never had the chance to end their romance officially, and so she was the grieving fiancée rather than the recently-jilted girlfriend, but Wally knew the truth and he couldn't make an ounce of the whole mess better for her.
"I'm sorry," he said instead. It wasn't his place to say so, it was John's, but John wasn't here.
"So am I," she said quietly.
"Why don't you let me do this? There's still stuff in the living room that needs packed."
"No. I'm the one who gets to clean up after him. That's the job I was signing up for, wasn't it?"
"He loved you," Wally blurted out, not even sure it was true.
Vixen stared at him. "You know," she said, after a while, "I think he did. And I'm not sure it makes it any better." Finally, tears formed at the edges of her eyes, rolled down her face. Vixen was professionally pretty, and she even managed to cry beautifully.
Wally dashed over to the couch and dug out the tissues from the bathroom box. He brought them back, handed her one without a word. She crumpled it in her hand, sniffling.
"Is there anything I can do?"
She nodded. "Yeah. Are you still seeing Linda?"
He hadn't called her in days. "I guess."
"Do you love her?"
"I ... Probably."
"Figure it out. If you do, tell her. Every day. And if you don't, don't be an ass and tell her you do."
He nodded. He would.
She wiped at her eyes until the tears were gone. Then she put on the bright smile he'd seen in half a dozen magazines he'd never admitted to John that he'd bought and kept. "Let's clean up this mess."
***
Wally showed up for his watch just on time Friday morning. Plastic Man and Waverider were with him, and so was Doctor Light, her first shift since she was discharged from the infirmary. The hours went by quietly, and he sat with Doctor Light at lunch because she felt like family.
He'd called Linda the night before. They'd talked. She'd yelled at him for making her worry. He'd told her he loved her. She'd yelled at him a little more.
After lunch he went to the rec room alone. His favorite window seat was empty. He wasn't sure how long he'd spent watching the stars when he heard someone behind him.
"Um, hi."
He turned his head. The new Lantern. Wally felt himself tense up. He forced himself to relax. "Hi."
"Look, I'm not good at talking to people," Lantern said. "Never really know what to say." Wally stared. "So anyway, I made these, and I think I should give one to, Vixen, is it? And Sapphire. I don't know about Hawkman. Nobody seems to like him much."
"He's all right," said Wally on autopilot.
The Lantern smiled. "Okay, then. Maybe I'll give it to him. Anyway, I wanted your opinion first."
He pulled a black case out from under his arm. Then he unzipped it and handed it to Wally. Wally took the thing, looked at the eager expression on Lantern's face, at least what he could tell under the mask, and almost threw it back at him. Instead, he opened the case.
The picture of Shayera was on top. She was in profile, wearing that not-quite-sad look on her face Wally knew too well. Her hair wasn't right, and she was wearing a green top Wally'd never seen, but it was a very pretty picture.
Metamorpho was next. He stared back up at Wally from the page, a big grin on his face, arms crossed over his chest. The weird colors on his skin jumped off the page like a technicolor scream from the calm blue and white background.
Wally turned to John's picture. Wally couldn't quite stifle his smile. It was John with hair, a stern and slightly impatient look on his face and his ring brandished in both promise and threat.
"These are really good."
"Thanks. I did John's from memory, but I had to talk Superman into letting me look at a couple of security tapes for the other two."
"I think you should definitely give Metamorpho's picture to Sapphire. I think ... Yeah. Give that to her."
"Thanks. I will. What do you think about the other two?"
He thought about Vixen, and knew the last thing she wanted right now was a picture of John. But maybe in a few months. He had no idea about Hall and he didn't care. Wally was as much Shayera's family as anyone.
"I don't think Vixen's ready yet. Wait a while. But she'll appreciate it."
Lantern nodded. "What about Hawkgirl's?"
"If you don't mind, I'd like that one." He flipped back to her picture. "Yeah."
Lantern nodded. "That's fine. Hold on." He took the drawings back a minute, then handed Wally just Shayera's portrait. He closed the portfolio with John's and Metamorpho's pictures inside.
"So. I'll be going then," Lantern said, and turned away.
"Hey. What made you decide to go with Classic GL?"
"Huh?"
"John with hair."
"Oh. Like I said, I went from memory. He looked like that more when I knew him." He smirked. "Had that same expression most of the time, too."
"I remember. I never had the guts to tell him to pull the stick out."
"Me either," said Lantern.
"Do you wanna sit down?" There was just enough room for two people to sit across from each other. Wally scooted a little to make more space.
"Sure," said Lantern, carefully sitting far enough away from him not to be a pain. "When he had that look, he always got this tone in his voice, you remember?"
"Yeah," Wally said, cracking a smile. "That was his 'I'm too mature to be dealing with this shit,' tone."
"I always thought of it as his 'I'm surrounded by idiots and they just elected you their king,' tone."
Wally laughed. Lantern grinned.
"John was a good guy," said Lantern.
"The best."
"What was Hawkgirl like? Superman told me you two were pretty close."
"Well, for starters, she hated being called 'Hawkgirl.' That whole invasion thing."
"Sorry."
"It's okay." And it was. "Shayera was great. Back in the old days, I used to hit on her. But she ended up being like my sister, you know?"
Lantern nodded. "I get that. I wish I could have met her."
"So do I."
Wally looked down, away from Lantern's face. He focused on the picture in his hands. Shayera looked back up at him. "Hey, what's that?" He pointed to a little scribble in the corner he hadn't noticed before.
"Oh. Since you're keeping that one, I went ahead and signed it. I always sign the good ones," he said, a note of pride in his voice.
"You make the weirdest 'G' I've ever seen, dude."
"That's a 'K,'" came the reply. Lantern held out his hand. "Kyle Rayner."
Wally's head jerked up. Lantern's hand was still out, and he watched Wally from behind his goofy mask. Wally had known his friends for two years, more, before Batman had gone and done the "everybody out" thing, and here was this guy, fresh on the team and obviously protective of his secret identity, holding out his hand and introducing himself. It was the kind of thing John would have done.
Wally shook Kyle's hand. "Wally West. It's ... It's good to meet, you, Kyle. Um. Do you ... " He paused, then blurted all at once: "Do you need a couch?"
***
The End
***
Kaddish (4/4)
a Justice League Unlimited story
by Merlin Missy
Copyright 2005
PG
***
Chapter Three
***
Chapter Four
***
A few hours later, his doorbell rang.
Groggily, Wally stumbled to the door in his dark apartment and opened it. It was Clark, and it was easy to think of him as "Clark" since he was all glasses and suit and stuff.
"Can I come in?"
Wally blinked the sleep out of his eyes. "Depends." But he wasn't quite awake enough to form a good comeback on what the "depends" was, so he just stood aside and said, "Sure."
Clark came in, and Wally clicked on the too-bright light. His place was a mess, but his place was usually a mess, and he knew he wouldn’t have cleaned anyway. He pushed past the other man to get to the refrigerator.
"Beer?"
"Do you have any pop?"
Pop? "Soda? Yeah. Hold on." Wally pulled two Cokes from the 'fridge and handed one to Clark. Then he sat at the little two-legged thing that attached to the wall under his window that he called his table. Clark joined him.
I'm sitting in my kitchen at midnight drinking soda with Superman.
"Thanks," Clark said politely as he opened his can and took a drink.
"Are you here to lecture me?"
"What? No. Why? Do you want me to?"
Wally shrugged. "Just figured you would. Why are you here?"
"Your comm is off, you're not answering your phone. I was worried."
"I'm off-duty. Right? Only you're not, and Diana's not and J'onn and Bats aren't. Just me."
"It's not just you."
"Right. Vixen too. Well great. Thanks. Now everyone is thinking I was sleeping with one of them, and if I'm very lucky, they're saying it was Shayera."
"Nobody thinks that."
"I don't care what they think, okay? I don't. Care." He sat back in his chair. "Are you here to tell me I'm not one of the 'five permanent chairs' at the table anymore?"
"No." Nothing but honesty in his eyes.
"But you talked about it. The three of you."
"We talked about a lot of things. We talked about disbanding. That always seems to come up, doesn't it?"
"Yeah." And every time, the same spectre: the League fractured into twos and threes and lots of solo players, all getting picked off by a group of villains who could learn from example about playing together. It had happened, the one time the original League had split under Grodd's direction. That led to bad thoughts, memories, and Wally shoved them away, as he had been shoving them all away.
"Have you talked to Vixen?"
Wally shook his head. "Why?"
"No one else has, either. Zatanna and Barda went over to her apartment building, but the doorman wouldn't let them in. He said she isn't receiving visitors, whatever that means to you."
"She's not going to want to see any of us. Not yet."
"I know. But someone's going to have to clean out John's apartment. Diana and I boxed up Shayera's things this morning."
"You … Oh." Another hurt, one he wasn't expecting. "What are you … Who … "
"We're not sure yet. If you have any ideas, that'd help. It seems like we should give some of them to Carter, but I'd prefer not to."
"How much did she have?"
"Not much. Mostly clothes. She didn't collect things."
"No."
"I was thinking maybe we should give the clothes to a shelter, or Goodwill."
"I think she'd be okay with that."
Clark reached into his pocket and pulled out a snowglobe. "Did you give this to her?"
"Yeah." There'd been a Christmas where he'd run out of ideas and everyone had gotten snowglobes. He stared at Shayera's globe, realization creeping in that Clark had brought it back to him to keep.
They sat. They drank their sodas. When the cans were empty, Wally brought two more.
Wally asked, "Do you know if John had any family left?"
"A couple of second and third cousins. We were his family."
Wally nodded, the lump in his throat refusing to dissolve no matter how much soda he drank. "I'll call Vixen. We'll take care of it."
"Good. Tell her how sorry we all are."
"For which part?"
Clark's eyes flickered. "Don't bring that up."
"Everyone heard." John had opened his comm to coordinate back with the rest, telling them Shayera had been trapped in the initial blast, and he'd forgotten to shut it off. Everyone, including Vixen, had heard Shayera plead with him to leave her there, had heard his reply, had heard what was almost certainly a kiss. What should have been a private moment between them had been shared with the entire League, and then the second, much bigger blast had gone off.
"I've got superhearing. I've overheard plenty of conversations I've had to pretend I never noticed."
"Mari's not stupid."
"I'm not saying she is. I'm saying, don’t make this even more painful for her than it already has to be."
"I wasn't planning on it." Wally finished his Coke loudly and Clark got the hint, draining his in one gulp and then standing.
"Thanks for the pop."
"You're welcome."
"Oh, before I forget. You've got watch Friday morning shift, main Watchtower. Bruce says don't be late." There was a hint of a smile on Clark's face as he reached the door.
"He would," said Wally, not trusting his own face for a real smile yet, but for the first time in forever, almost ready for one. "Good-night, Clark."
"Good-night, Wally."
***
Mid-morning. Mari knew it by the light coming from her alarm clock. The rest of her loft was enshrouded in darkness; the curtains had been drawn for days; the lamps were darkened; a scrap of light crept around from the clock and that was all to indicate the time of day or night.
The phone rang again, and she knew why she'd wakened. She lay in her bed, surrounded by pillows, listening to the muted ring from the phone in her kitchenette, the only one she hadn't turned off. After three rings, the machine picked up, and that she hadn't turned down so her own voice echoed through her home: "You've reached 847-8804. Please leave a message." She'd stopped saying her name on her machine after the first Sports Illustrated shoot.
The Flash started talking. "Hey, Vix. It's Flash. I don't know if you're screening your calls or what. I'll give you a sec to pick up if you are. Um. Not that you wouldn't be screening me too. You know what? I'll be there in a minute, so I hope you're home and I hope your doorman doesn't shoot me. Okay?" There was a pause, perhaps while he waited for her reply, and then a click.
She stayed in bed, watching the alarm clock's tiny pulse as it counted the seconds. Ten passed and there was a knock on her door.
"It's me." A pause. "Are you in there?" Another pause. "Look, I think you're there. Can you please open the door?" She waited. "I need to talk, and I think you need to talk to me too. I mean," she heard a slight thump, like someone resting his head against her door, "we both loved him, right? Not the same way," he said quickly, "but you know what I mean. And I think your security is coming up the elevator right now, and while I can kick their asses, I'm not gonna. Please open the door."
She stared at the ceiling, and then slid out from under the covers. Her robe was on the floor where she'd left it, and she tied the knot at her waist.
"Hey, guys," said the Flash from outside her door. "I'm just here to see my friend. I'm not here to make trouble."
Mari unlocked her door and opened it.
"Morning, Ms. Macabe," said Harry. He'd been one of two security guards for the building over the past five years, and his daughter Laura had an autographed poster of Mari on her wall and he'd always been polite. "Are you all right?"
She nodded. She looked at Flash, then stood back and allowed enough room for him to come inside. When he didn't come in, she grabbed his arm and shoved him. Then she smiled at Harry as best she could, and nodded a little, and shut the door behind her. She clicked on the light switch, letting the lamps cast a warm glow around her loft.
Flash stood in the living room - she'd set up tall, billowy gauze and muslin curtains around her bed and dresser to make a rose-tinted bedroom to one side - staring but not poking at her things. She wondered if he thought the spare decorations were a sign of grief. She wondered if he'd expected blown-up prints of covers she'd done, or images from her better work in frames, instead of the two black and white Japanese abstracts to either side of her entertainment center, which were the only items on her walls at all.
Mari patted the couch for him, went into the kitchenette, started the coffeemaker, came back, found him still staring at her two pictures, looking back and forth between them like he was trying to discern the shape of some riddle.
She sighed. There was no riddle, nothing deeper than that she'd seen the prints and liked them and bought them. Sometimes art was just art, pretty for the sake of being pretty.
She sat down, patting the seat beside her again. Flash sat down.
"Hi," he said, finally.
She twitched her mouth. It wasn't a smile, wasn't anything but an acknowledgment that he'd spoken.
"You're not doing good with this."
Mari shook her head. No use lying.
"Me neither."
She nodded. Then she reached out and patted his hand. He was right: they'd both loved John in their own ways. Plus, while Mari had liked Shayera, Flash had loved her, and he'd spent time with Metamorpho, far more than Mari herself had. Rex Mason had been John's oldest friend in the League, and one of his oldest friends, period, and now even that link to John was gone.
"I miss him," said Flash. "And I miss her. I think I'm going to miss Metamorpho, but it feels … " He looked away from her, up at the pictures again, and then at the floor. "It feels like I don't have any room left to feel anything else, you know?"
She nodded again. She knew.
"Anyway. Superman came to see me last night, and he said." Flash stopped, and he breathed. "He and Diana cleaned out Shayera's room. We need to clean out John's apartment."
Mari closed her eyes. This was real, then. John wasn't going to appear in a sudden flash of green light tonight, and tell her it was all a mistake, and sweep her up and hold her close. She was going to go with this kid who'd for no apparent reason been John's best friend in the world, and she was going to pack up John's things and put them away, and she was going to have to see if John even had a lawyer and a will, and John was gone and the world should mourn its beloved dead.
She opened her eyes again, saw him watching her, and she nodded once. She would dress and they would go.
From the kitchen, the coffeemaker began to percolate, sputtering and muttering like some small god of drains stirring at last to life.
***
"Hey, Grandpa."
There was a long pause. "Kyle?"
"Yeah, Grandpa. It's Kyle. How've you been?"
"Where are you? Why haven't you come to see me?"
Kyle changed his hold on the phone. "I've been out of town, Grandpa."
"It's been four years."
"Did you get the letters I sent?"
"I got 'em. Postmark was from Detroit."
"Yeah. Yeah, I ... went through there sometimes." His first lie, and he stuttered through it badly.
"You could've come to see me."
"I want to. I ... Will you be home this weekend?"
"I can be. You remember the way."
"Yeah. I remember. Grandpa?"
"Yes, boy?"
"Is there anything you need? I've got ... " Not much, to be frank. "I can get things now. I'm doing good."
"No. Just come. Unless you've got a girlfriend. You can bring her."
"No girl," Kyle said, smiling a little sadly. "Maybe now that I'm settling down."
"Okay. Come Saturday morning."
"Early. I'll be there. Love you, Grandpa."
"Kyle." Grandpa never said "I love you," and that was fine. "Bye." Grandpa hung up the phone and Kyle closed his.
He hadn't been up to the cabin in years, but he knew Grandpa always had solid staples stashed away. Kyle could bring perishables and they could sit on the porch eating ice milk and drinking beer and that would be a perfect weekend.
But before then, Kyle had a project to finish.
***
It wasn't as bad as Wally'd feared. Vixen had a key. Wally picked up the spare from its usual place and gave it to her without a word. She clasped both keys together in her palm. She'd give them back to the landlady when the apartment was finally emptied.
John kept everything so very neat. He always had. So the records were in their proper sleeves and were alphabetized. The bathroom was clean. So was the refrigerator, despite the food, which Wally packed up for his own home. Never let food go to waste, said the voice of his grammy in his head, and Wally never had.
He set the unrefrigerated food on the dark orange couch next to the boxes of records and books, then helped Vixen finish pulling the videos. John didn't own a lot of dvds since he'd only recently broken down and bought a player.
He packed the bathroom stuff, allowing Vixen to take the corner set aside for the bedroom. He didn't want to ask how familiar she was with that place, didn't want to be there as she stripped the sheets from the bed, emptied John's clothes from his drawers, took his suits from their hangers in the wardrobe.
The bathroom was weird enough.
He found a small bottle of shampoo and another bottle of conditioner. He figured both were probably Vixen's, and he set them aside politely. No shampoo for John, not for over two years now. A sliver of soap left in the shower, five bars left in a pack under the sink. Tissues. Half a tube of toothpaste, rolled firmly from the end. Shaving cream. Beard trimmer. Razor with blades. Nail clipper. Stick of deodorant, and another stick of a ladies' brand that he set beside the shampoo. Another look through the shower located a pink razor, which went into Vixen's box.
The shower curtain was free from mold or buildup; Wally thought about swiping it to replace his own, which so wasn't. He left the shower curtain, and the rest of the toilet paper. Two boxes in hand, he brought everything back out to the pile on the couch.
Have to bring the van back and find someone to take the furniture. For a moment, he thought maybe the new Lantern might need a couch, and then he pushed the thought away angrily. He looked over to see how Vixen was doing.
In the corner, John's closet door was open, and looked empty. His top dresser drawer was open and full of socks and underwear. Vixen sat on the still-made bed, knees pulled against her chest, holding herself tightly and staring.
"Hey," he said, as gently as he could. When she didn't respond, he went a little closer, but knew better than to sit on the bed with her. He spotted a chair against the wall, grabbed it, and sat down in front of her.
"Vixen, maybe you should go pack the stereo. I can handle this."
If she heard him, she didn't show it. She kept staring at the open drawer. Wally had heard of people going crazy after someone they loved died. When he'd lost his grandmother, his last living relative, he'd been inconsolable for weeks. There'd been kids at the orphanage, especially the newer arrivals, who were practically catatonic.
He placed a gloved hand on her shoulder. "Vixen? Mari?"
"I hate him."
The words were cold in the air, held there. It was the first thing she'd said to him all day.
"I hate him so much." She wasn't crying, but he could hear the pain in her voice, so deep it must've tickled her feet.
"You don't mean that," he soothed.
"He never intended to stay. I thought he did. He made me think he would. But as soon as she needed him, he was gone. She whistled, he went running, and I didn't even register on his radar."
Wally wanted to say something, try to console her, and there was nothing he could say. Even had John walked out of that building alive, there was only a slim chance Vixen wouldn't have dumped him that same day. Instead, he hadn't walked out and she'd never had the chance to end their romance officially, and so she was the grieving fiancée rather than the recently-jilted girlfriend, but Wally knew the truth and he couldn't make an ounce of the whole mess better for her.
"I'm sorry," he said instead. It wasn't his place to say so, it was John's, but John wasn't here.
"So am I," she said quietly.
"Why don't you let me do this? There's still stuff in the living room that needs packed."
"No. I'm the one who gets to clean up after him. That's the job I was signing up for, wasn't it?"
"He loved you," Wally blurted out, not even sure it was true.
Vixen stared at him. "You know," she said, after a while, "I think he did. And I'm not sure it makes it any better." Finally, tears formed at the edges of her eyes, rolled down her face. Vixen was professionally pretty, and she even managed to cry beautifully.
Wally dashed over to the couch and dug out the tissues from the bathroom box. He brought them back, handed her one without a word. She crumpled it in her hand, sniffling.
"Is there anything I can do?"
She nodded. "Yeah. Are you still seeing Linda?"
He hadn't called her in days. "I guess."
"Do you love her?"
"I ... Probably."
"Figure it out. If you do, tell her. Every day. And if you don't, don't be an ass and tell her you do."
He nodded. He would.
She wiped at her eyes until the tears were gone. Then she put on the bright smile he'd seen in half a dozen magazines he'd never admitted to John that he'd bought and kept. "Let's clean up this mess."
***
Wally showed up for his watch just on time Friday morning. Plastic Man and Waverider were with him, and so was Doctor Light, her first shift since she was discharged from the infirmary. The hours went by quietly, and he sat with Doctor Light at lunch because she felt like family.
He'd called Linda the night before. They'd talked. She'd yelled at him for making her worry. He'd told her he loved her. She'd yelled at him a little more.
After lunch he went to the rec room alone. His favorite window seat was empty. He wasn't sure how long he'd spent watching the stars when he heard someone behind him.
"Um, hi."
He turned his head. The new Lantern. Wally felt himself tense up. He forced himself to relax. "Hi."
"Look, I'm not good at talking to people," Lantern said. "Never really know what to say." Wally stared. "So anyway, I made these, and I think I should give one to, Vixen, is it? And Sapphire. I don't know about Hawkman. Nobody seems to like him much."
"He's all right," said Wally on autopilot.
The Lantern smiled. "Okay, then. Maybe I'll give it to him. Anyway, I wanted your opinion first."
He pulled a black case out from under his arm. Then he unzipped it and handed it to Wally. Wally took the thing, looked at the eager expression on Lantern's face, at least what he could tell under the mask, and almost threw it back at him. Instead, he opened the case.
The picture of Shayera was on top. She was in profile, wearing that not-quite-sad look on her face Wally knew too well. Her hair wasn't right, and she was wearing a green top Wally'd never seen, but it was a very pretty picture.
Metamorpho was next. He stared back up at Wally from the page, a big grin on his face, arms crossed over his chest. The weird colors on his skin jumped off the page like a technicolor scream from the calm blue and white background.
Wally turned to John's picture. Wally couldn't quite stifle his smile. It was John with hair, a stern and slightly impatient look on his face and his ring brandished in both promise and threat.
"These are really good."
"Thanks. I did John's from memory, but I had to talk Superman into letting me look at a couple of security tapes for the other two."
"I think you should definitely give Metamorpho's picture to Sapphire. I think ... Yeah. Give that to her."
"Thanks. I will. What do you think about the other two?"
He thought about Vixen, and knew the last thing she wanted right now was a picture of John. But maybe in a few months. He had no idea about Hall and he didn't care. Wally was as much Shayera's family as anyone.
"I don't think Vixen's ready yet. Wait a while. But she'll appreciate it."
Lantern nodded. "What about Hawkgirl's?"
"If you don't mind, I'd like that one." He flipped back to her picture. "Yeah."
Lantern nodded. "That's fine. Hold on." He took the drawings back a minute, then handed Wally just Shayera's portrait. He closed the portfolio with John's and Metamorpho's pictures inside.
"So. I'll be going then," Lantern said, and turned away.
"Hey. What made you decide to go with Classic GL?"
"Huh?"
"John with hair."
"Oh. Like I said, I went from memory. He looked like that more when I knew him." He smirked. "Had that same expression most of the time, too."
"I remember. I never had the guts to tell him to pull the stick out."
"Me either," said Lantern.
"Do you wanna sit down?" There was just enough room for two people to sit across from each other. Wally scooted a little to make more space.
"Sure," said Lantern, carefully sitting far enough away from him not to be a pain. "When he had that look, he always got this tone in his voice, you remember?"
"Yeah," Wally said, cracking a smile. "That was his 'I'm too mature to be dealing with this shit,' tone."
"I always thought of it as his 'I'm surrounded by idiots and they just elected you their king,' tone."
Wally laughed. Lantern grinned.
"John was a good guy," said Lantern.
"The best."
"What was Hawkgirl like? Superman told me you two were pretty close."
"Well, for starters, she hated being called 'Hawkgirl.' That whole invasion thing."
"Sorry."
"It's okay." And it was. "Shayera was great. Back in the old days, I used to hit on her. But she ended up being like my sister, you know?"
Lantern nodded. "I get that. I wish I could have met her."
"So do I."
Wally looked down, away from Lantern's face. He focused on the picture in his hands. Shayera looked back up at him. "Hey, what's that?" He pointed to a little scribble in the corner he hadn't noticed before.
"Oh. Since you're keeping that one, I went ahead and signed it. I always sign the good ones," he said, a note of pride in his voice.
"You make the weirdest 'G' I've ever seen, dude."
"That's a 'K,'" came the reply. Lantern held out his hand. "Kyle Rayner."
Wally's head jerked up. Lantern's hand was still out, and he watched Wally from behind his goofy mask. Wally had known his friends for two years, more, before Batman had gone and done the "everybody out" thing, and here was this guy, fresh on the team and obviously protective of his secret identity, holding out his hand and introducing himself. It was the kind of thing John would have done.
Wally shook Kyle's hand. "Wally West. It's ... It's good to meet, you, Kyle. Um. Do you ... " He paused, then blurted all at once: "Do you need a couch?"
***
The End
***