AFTERMATH: The Beads On the String

AFTERMATH: THE BEADS ON THE STRING by BillA1

Disclaimer: The characters Batman, Green Lantern, Hawkgirl, Wonder Woman, Martian Manhunter, Superman & Flash and their respective secret identities are all owned by DC Comics. Static is owned by Milestone. This story is intended for my own pleasure and is not for profit. It has been posted to this site for others to read. Places and characters not own by DC Comics are my own creation. This story is based on characters from the animated Justice League series episode: "Destroyer" written Dwayne McDuffie. The AFTERMATH stories are a collection of R 'Verse tales set after "Destroyer" and before the Batman Beyond time period. "The R 'Verse" is copyright 2006. A huge shout out of thanks to Merlin Missy for her beta on this story. Spoilers up through "Destroyer." A sequel to AFTERMATH: Return of the Queen. A Prequel to "Bookends." For the FoBs for keeping the dream alive.

Aftermath: The Beads on the String

A Justice League Unlimited - R 'Verse Story

Rating: (PG)

Synopsis: John and Shayera must make decisions about their future in their new world. A John /Shayera /Rex futurefic.

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Chapter One

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I shall not waste my days trying to prolong them. I shall use my time. - Ian Fleming

(The Metro Tower - John's room)

(Two hours ago)

"And just when were you going to tell me you could go back?" Shayera demanded. "Or were you planning to go back by yourself?"

"I said we could go back to our own time," he corrected her. He returned her glare with one of his own. He hadn't even intended to bring it up, had just casually referred to the possibility in passing while they reminisced. They'd been in his room since dinner last night; just chatting about everything and anything they could think of, talking about themselves, their past, their future, their hopes and their dreams. Stewart would later tell Rex that he learned more about his mother in this one night than he'd learned in the preceding seven years. And then he'd mentioned going back. "You knew everything else about this ring," he said pointedly holding up his ring finger. "I figured you knew it could do time travel."

Her expression changed from anger to hurt and back to anger in the space of three seconds. Low blow, Stewart. He sat down on his bed. "Sit down," he said softly, patting his bed.

She glared at him and remained standing. "Please," he said again. "I want to share something with you. I need to share something with you."

She stood for another moment and then sat on the opposite side of the bed. She kept her back to him, but turned her head so she could see him. "I'm sitting," she said, her eyes narrowing. "What?"

Stewart sighed. "Remember when..." He paused. He hated this memory. "When you revealed the truth about your intelligence mission? You said you thought I would understand because I was a soldier once."

She nodded. Her expression immediately softened as he said, "Well, I need to explain something to you. One soldier to another."

She got up and walked around the bed and sat next to him. "I'm listening," she said quietly.

"While I was on Oa, I researched the archives to see what I'd missed. Within months of our disappearance, there was a civil war on Oa. There were some Guardians and Green Lanterns who felt the Lanterns should rule their sectors, not just be responsible for them. These Guardians and Lanterns broke away from the Corps."

He paused. "The war went on for almost five years."

"Five years?" Shayera asked. "How many Lanterns are you talking about?"

Stewart sighed loudly. "A third of the Corps. Twelve hundred Lanterns broke away." He glanced away from her. "The fratricide was enormous. Lantern killed Lantern to take control of sectors. Katma, Kilowog and a lot of others I knew died defending Oa from the rebels."

He looked at her as she put her hand on top of his and whispered, "I'm sorry about your friends. They were good people."

Stewart nodded and got to his feet. "Eventually, the renegades were defeated. More than twenty-five years later, the Corps still hasn't recovered. And that's my dilemma. The Guardians and a lot of Lanterns think I fled the fight and now that I'm back they think I came voluntarily to the future because I was a coward. They're not saying it out loud, but they think it."

Shayera stood, walked up to him and poked her finger in his chest. "You're many things, John Stewart, but you are not a coward. Don't let me hear you say that again. You would have been there, if you could."

Stewart looked down at her and flashed a quick smile before frowning. "And that's just it. I can be there if I want to. Maybe if I go back, I can prevent the war or make it end sooner or...."

Shayera shook her head, "Or cause your side to lose."

"What?"

"Maybe your side won because you weren't there," she said. "Did you consider that?"

"That's ridiculous," he answered. "My ring could have helped. I could have helped."

She was quiet for a moment, then looked into his eyes. "You were a soldier, a Marine, so I'll tell you what you already know. Your side won without you. And if you want to go back, I'll go back with you. But I want you to answer this for me before we go: To what point in time do you go back and what do you do different? Do you prevent Metamorpho from saving us both? Maybe you leave me to die in the building alone or maybe you save yourself instead of me in Las Vegas, thwarting the invasion, or maybe you kill Hro when you first meet him. Or maybe you have jelly instead of cream cheese on a bagel. How will you know the right thing to do and know that your side will still win if you do it?"

Stewart frowned. He turned his back on her and lowered his head. "You know that I don't know the answer to any of that, but I do know I wouldn't leave you and I wouldn't change anything different about Las Vegas."

"Well that's good to hear," she said with just a hint of a smile in her voice. He turned to face her and she frowned. "John, I don't want to get into your Lantern business and I'm even prepared to give up my stake in this future, but you need to decide which one is more important to you: The fact that they won without you or that they won, period."

"Stop!" His eyes narrowed into a steely stare. Shayera stepped back, surprised.

"I know which one is most important," he answered.

(Now)

They sat on his bed with the game between. Stewart glanced at the clock and then back to the chess board in front of him. In a moment, she'd announce how many moves he had until she won. They'd resumed chatting after their earlier argument, but he made a note to himself that from this point on in their relationship he would never automatically assume that she knew what he knew.

"I think it was when we thought we were stranded on that garbage dump planet," he said in response to her question. "You remember, when we went looking for Superman and J'onn?"

"So, I see," Shayera said brightly, not looking up from the chess board. "I was suddenly attractive to you when you thought that I was the only woman around, huh?" She looked up, flashed a quick grin and looked back at the board. "I think, for me, it began when we were trapped in that dimension and met the Justice Guild." She paused and then added, "Checkmate in five moves."

Stewart sighed. Well, some things haven't changed. He studied the board and said, "Tell me about your family on Thanagar." He suddenly looked up, realizing what he'd asked, and stared into her emotionless face. "I'm sorry," he quickly said. "I mean, did you have any childhood pets? Stewart, that's not a good question either, idiot.

"It's okay," she said sadly. She took a deep breath and let it out very slowly. "Thanagar is still my home. I did have family there, but I'm sure they're all dead now. What about you? Any brothers or sisters?"

Stewart shook his head and moved his queen. "No. No family left."

She shrugged as she studied his move. "Then tell me about your childhood."

She looks really good with that haircut. "Nothing to tell. It was probably a little tougher than most people had, but I did okay." He reached up, scratched his ear and said more to himself than to her, "They'd be surprised how well CJ did."

Her head suddenly snapped up to look at him. "CJ? Check!"

"Childhood nickname," he answered. He moved another piece on the board. The end was near and they both knew it.

She quickly moved her rook and looked up at him again. She frowned. "So what does CJ stand for? Check!"

"You know how nicknames are," he said glancing at the clock again. "You get one as a kid and it sticks even when it no longer fits. Did you ever have a nickname as a child?" He moved his remaining bishop to protect his king.

She smiled briefly as she took the bishop. "Yes, I had a family name as a very young child. Check!"

Stewart looked at her, waiting for her to tell him. She looked down at the board again. He cocked his head toward her. "Well, go ahead. Share!"

She looked away from the game for a moment, then brought her hands to her face. "When I was a very young child, I was ... somewhat high-strung and easily agitated."

"Nice to know you've outgrown that trait," he smirked and then added, "Sorry, go ahead."

She glared at him, then her expression softened. "No, that's okay," she said quietly. "I don't think I will."

Stewart frowned, narrowing his eyes. "I thought we were going to be honest with each other. Completely open, as you said. Nothing off the table, you said." He paused as she glanced away from him again. "Look. There's only one person on the planet that knows what CJ stands for." Then as an afterthought, he added, "And it's not Mari."

She arched her eyebrows and cocked her head toward him. "Okay. What does CJ stand for?"

He moved his remaining knight to protect his king. She'd take this piece and end the game. "It stands for 'Crybaby John,'" he admitted.

"Oh." Her eyes twinkled. "Somehow, I don't think that fits," she said placing her hand on her queen.

Stewart nodded and sighed. "It did when I was younger. It's a name my cousins gave me. You see, my mother died when I was a young boy. I was raised by my Grandmother until she passed away shortly after. I was bounced from relative to relative until I ended up with Aunt Loretta." He looked at Shayera as she took his knight with her queen. "I ended up doing a lot of crying when I was young. But, I don't think CJ ended up doing too badly."

He paused and stared at her pointedly. "Now, what about your nickname?"

She was quiet for a long moment. "Eko'msu'. My nickname was eko'msu'."

"And what does that mean?"

Shayera shook her head as she said "Checkmate! Maybe I'll tell you later about the name. What time are you supposed to meet Vixen and her husband?"

Stewart got off the bed and stretched. "That's not fair. You were supposed to tell me," he said, engaging the ring's auto translator, "what Eko'msu' meant." He briefly glowed with green energy. His eyes widened, then he started laughing so hard tears rolled down his cheeks.

Shayera got off the bed on the other side. "You cheated. You used your ring to translate, didn't you?" Her eyes flashed with anger.

Stewart slowly stopped laughing and wiped his eyes, but the smile never left his face. "Maybe." He took a deep breath and cleared his throat. "I'm supposed to meet Mari at 11:30."

Shayera looked at the clock, looked up at the ceiling as if thinking, then back at him. "Shouldn't you leave now since it's 10:30 A.M. in Paris already?"

"In just a few minutes," he said as he held up his ring. "I can get there in plenty of time. Are you sure you don't want to come with me?"

Shayera shook her head. "No, but I'll be here when you get back." She paused and looked him in the eyes. "John, if you think you want her to be part of your life again, I want you to tell me up front so I can move on with my life." She folded her arms across her chest as she looked away.

When he'd told her that he was going to meet Mari, Shayera seemed to take it better than he thought she would. She agreed that he needed to see Mari, to find out how she was doing, to let her know he --- they --- were alive. Shayera outwardly seemed to take the news with a great deal of understanding. And that means she doesn't understand at all.

Stewart walked around the bed and stood next to her. She looked up at him and he smirked. "Don't worry about me ... or her. That book is closed now. Puddles."

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Chapter Two

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"I'm no good at being noble, but it doesn't take much to see that the problems of three little people don't amount to a hill of beans in this crazy world. Someday you'll understand that." - Rick Blaine (Casablanca - 1942)

(The simulation training room)

Virgil handed Shayera a piece of newly-coated armor, but she couldn't force her sleepy eyes to focus. She took a swig of coffee and tried to think.

She was tired, but grateful that she'd stayed up all night with John. She would later tell Merina over breakfast that it took them thirty-three years, but at long last she and John were finally talking to each other and not at each other.

As a bonus, staying up meant she didn't sleep and if she didn't sleep she didn't have the nightmares. There was a knot in the pit of her stomach as she recalled the terror each horrible dream brought. It was so real and she was so tired of waking up crying and begging for mercy.

Mercy she knew she would never get. Mercy she knew she wasn't entitled to.

If only she didn't have to sleep at all.

John had left. She didn't say anything, but she wished he wasn't going to see Vixen, not now, not yet. Vixen might tell him that she was unhappy, that she wanted him to come back and rescue her from the last thirty-three years. And if she said so, John just might do it despite his acknowledgment that he could screw up the victory his side had won.

Shayera sighed. Vixen was the puppet master and Shayera would once again have to dance to the strings Mari pulled. The knot in her stomach got larger.

She shook her head and focused on the task at hand as she carefully examined the armor Static had given her. Holding the armor hip plate against her side she said, "Virgil, this looks great. Have you tested it yet?"

He creased his lips together in a straight line. "Yes and no. Sorta," he said, taking the armor back from her. "I electrically tested it, but that's not the same as making sure it works the way the uncoated armor would." He held the plate up. "I used a silver-aluminum alloy because it seemed to stick the best."

Shayera sighed. "So we need to do a 'test to failure' using the lasers? Right?"

Virgil looked unhappy. "We could do the math calculations and compute the failure point. Of course, if we misplace a decimal point, well ... it might ruin your weekend." Shayera could tell he was concerned despite his attempt to joke about it.

She folded her arms across her chest. "Okay. Let's put the unmodified armor on a 'bot and then blast it with lasers. I think the armor is supposed to stop a class C at two meters. That's our standard. Once we confirm the threshold, then we can test the modified metal."

Virgil shook his head. "But suppose we end up destroying the armor? I mean, what will you do then?"

Shayera shrugged. "Same thing I did thirty-three years ago. Not wear any armor."

(In a taxi enroute to Les Deux Magots)

Earlier in the day, Cleavon Delacroix watched as his bride of almost thirty years and the mother of his three children tried to fit into dresses she hadn't worn in years, and then snapped at him for no reason when the clothing didn't fit. Mari had been a nervous wreck ever since she'd gotten the phone call from this Monsieur Stewart, someone she'd known earlier in her life.

But he understood. She'd been a superhero. She'd lived a heroic life. And this John Stewart had been close to her when she was young. Yes, that kind of close.

Delacroix was Swiss by birth and in his mind, a cultured, modern man. He nodded to himself that he understood these things better than most. Another man would be insanely jealous if his wife suddenly wanted to meet an old boyfriend, but Delacroix had once been in the same room with Superman. Nothing bothered him after that.

He tried to comfort Mari now as they rode in the cab to the café. "It will be okay," he said.

"No, it won't," she answered. "You have no idea what a Green Lantern can do if he wants to."

So he let her spin in a tornado of her own making and he decided he would try to be there for moral support. He knew she would need it, sooner or later. He just hoped that he wouldn't need it before she did.

(Les Deux Magots)

They'd last visited this open air café about thirteen years ago, on the same trip to Paris that resulted in their youngest. Mari held her husband's hand as they got out of the cab. Way too tight. Nerves. Loosen up. Let go of the anger. She turned to Cleavon, "Remember. He speaks only English." At least he did the last time I saw him.

As they entered the restaurant area, she quickened her pace. Then she saw him. She drew a sharp breath as he stood. She knew she'd changed over the last thirty years, but John didn't look a day older than the last time she saw him. Good Lord. With the dark glasses on, he looks almost young enough to be my son.

When she got close enough, she thought about hugging him and decided she wouldn't. She just stood next to him and said, "It is you. It's really you."

Mari was shaking and Cleavon gently put his arm around her shoulders and squeezed as if to remind her all was well. John extended his hand to Cleavon and said, "My name is John Stewart."

Cleavon shook John's hand and said, "Cleavon Delacroix. Pleasure to meet you." He glanced at Mari and then back to John, "Have you ordered yet?"

Mari didn't take her eyes off of John. How could he look so young? Why didn't he call sooner?

"No," John said smiling. "My French isn't very good. I didn't want to end up with apple pie and a cup of spaghetti sauce." Cleavon smiled as Mari laughed perhaps a little too loudly.

Cleavon pulled out a chair for Mari and she sat down. Both men sat down when she did.

"What would you like?" Cleavon asked John.

"Whatever you're having," John answered. "I'm not very hungry. I just wanted to -"

Cleavon cut him off. He narrowed his eyes as he said, "No, no, not before her food is ordered. Otherwise, she won't eat."

Mari nudged him under the table and whispered in French, "Cleavon! Stop!" She loved him, but sometimes.... She forced another smile.

Cleavon looked at John. "She's telling me to stop, but she hasn't eaten since you called. I'm going to give you two some alone time. I'll place your order with a waiter and then I'll wait a couple of tables over, okay?"

He stood without waiting for John's acknowledgment, glanced at Mari and told her in French, "Make sure you show him the pictures of the kids... and the grandkids."

She smiled at John and then looked at Cleavon, answering him in French, "He's not interested in seeing pictures."

Cleavon frowned as he replied, "Then why did you spend most of this morning looking for them?" He bent over and kissed her on the forehead and said in English, "Don't forget the pictures."

He nodded at John and left to find a waiter. Mari looked at John and said, "He worries about me way too much." John smiled weakly as she watched Cleavon grab a waiter, point to her table and place an order.

Stewart cast a quick glance at Cleavon as the older man sat down a couple of tables over. He noticed a passing resemblance between Mari's husband and the face he knew in his own mirror, notwithstanding the age difference. Just a coincidence.

He turned his attention back to Mari. She looked great and it was hard for Stewart to keep his eyes off her. She was a little heavier and her hair was longer with streaks of gray, but she was still gorgeous. He put his elbows on the table and leaned forward. "I guess you're wondering what happened."

She glared at him, "No. Asking you what happened never crossed my mind. Not once in thirty-three years," she snapped.

He looked down at the tablecloth and then back up at her. "I deserved that and I know saying I'm sorry won't get it."

Mari nodded, "You're right. Sorry won't get it." She paused. "But why don't you tell me what happened to you anyway."

Stewart told her the story that was becoming rote: trapped in the foundry with Shayera, a sudden blast, and the next thing he knew, thirty-three years had passed. Mari nodded and then frowned and nodded again as he brought her up to date on the last few days. Won't tell her about the reassignment yet.

Mari smiled tightly. "Shayera? Is she well?"

"She's well," Stewart answered. "And you? Looks like marriage agrees with you."

"Thirty years, three kids and four grandkids," she said, as she reached into her purse and pulled out a handful of photos. She spread the pictures of her children in front of John. She pointed to each one and named them for him: Alicia, Susan and Wayne. A waiter came to the table and set in front of Mari a small spinach salad with house dressing on the side, a soft roll and ice water. He set in front of John a bowl of soup, a hard roll and coffee with cream on the side.

Stewart looked at the food order Cleavon had placed for Mari and grinned tightly. She'd eaten similar meals when they dated, but he wasn't sure he would have dared to place a meal order for her without asking her for confirmation. Cleavon did and it was exactly what she wanted, the way she would want it.

He reached over his soup and picked up the photo of Alicia and studied it.

The young woman looked a lot like Mari. But he thought she had his Grandma's eyes.

"How old is she?" Stewart asked as he handed the photo back to Mari. Try to be calm.

"Not that old. But thank you for asking," Mari said. Her expression was droll and Stewart didn't realize he'd been holding his breath until he let it out.

"Cleavon seems like a good man," Stewart said.

"He is." Then she sighed. "Everyone treated me like a widow when you disappeared, pretending they didn't hear your last transmission." She paused and sighed again, louder this time. "You have no idea what it was like, no idea what I had to go through when you died. I had to go to Metamorpho's funeral, your memorial, the small service for Shayera the founding members held, the park dedication. It went on and on and never seemed to stop. Never.

"Everybody loved you, John, everybody but me. I hated you. You hear me, I hate you, John Stewart, for dying with her when you could have chosen to live with me. I know you kissed her, everybody knew you kissed. I know you loved her, everybody knew you loved her. And when you died with her, I kept wondering why you stayed with me knowing you loved her. Were you going to tell me we were over when you came out of that building or were you just going to keep using me until it was time for you to be with her?"

She picked up her napkin and wiped her eyes as said, "Was it all a lie?"

Stewart glanced away for a moment, then he looked at her.

"I did love you, Mari," he said. "And it's important to me that you believe that." Stewart lifted his dark glasses for a second and looked her in the eyes before setting them back on his face. He wiped his hand across his lips. "Remember when you were in the hospital because of the Shadow Thief? Remember the day I told you about my meeting my son ... mine and Shayera's son?"

"Yes," she answered quietly.

Telling her that day about his son was one of the hardest things he'd had to do in his life, next to telling Shayera he was staying with Mari. He would never forget the pained look on Mari's face. But she stayed with him when he was sure most women would have walked away.

"In the last couple of days," he said softly, "I've learned more about myself than you could ever imagine. I've had to make some tough decisions lately, not just about staying here in this time, but what staying here would really mean, not just to me, but to you ... and Shayera."

He cleared his throat. "You know how I feel about Shayera," he continued. "I know you've never heard me say it out loud, but you knew. You always knew." He looked down, then back at her. "I can't go back to the 'us' of thirty-three years ago and I can't come to you now." He paused and shook his head. "I won't come to you now." He pointed at the pictures of her children on the table. "They are what you deserve. This is what you deserve," he said gesturing in front of him. "And it's not something I can give you ... in any time period."

She lowered her head and he reached across the table and placed his fingers under her chin and lifted her head toward him. "You know what I'm saying is true."

She said nothing. She looked at him with moist eyes that suddenly widened, then narrowed.

Her lower lip quivered as she shook her head and said, "Promise me you won't change this timeline." Stewart was surprised by her words and studied her face intently.

"Don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about," she continued. "I read the old reports. How six of you rewrote World War II. How Superman was thrown into the future by Toyman's weapon and managed to get back to the present and change things so the world didn't end under Vandal Savage. I know you can do a lot of things with that ring of yours." She glanced in the direction of her husband, who was seated several tables over drinking coffee and pretending to ignore them, and then she looked back to Stewart. "Will you promise me you won't change this timeline? Please." She paused. There were tears in her eyes. "I want this, John. I really do. I'm happy here."

A slow smile crossed Stewart's face. "And I'm happy for you," he said. "I promise I won't do anything to change this timeline, Mari. But I want you to know, it's not about you. It's not even about Shayera and me. It's about something bigger, much bigger, than any of us."

Stewart stood. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Mari's husband stand up as well.

He bent over and kissed Mari on the forehead. "Goodbye."

Mari stood, threw her arms around Stewart and kissed him on the lips. "Goodbye, John. Good luck to you." He noted that she didn't tell him that she loved him, but he knew. Breaking that embrace added another labor to his list of the hardest things he'd ever done.

Then he smiled at Mari, kissed her on the forehead again, turned and walked away toward her husband.

Delacroix stood when the American stood. He cringed a little when his wife kissed this man young enough to his son on the lips. He tried to remind himself that he shouldn't be bothered by a display of affection by his bride and another man. After all, they'd not seen each other for thirty years, they were in Paris and all lovers should say goodbye in the city of the Eiffel Tower. They are saying goodbye, right?

Now as the American approached, Delacroix took a deep breath, trying to remind himself he was a modern man, not given to primitive instincts. He extended his hand to the young man and said in his best English, "It was a pleasure to meet you, Mister Stewart. The best of luck to you, son."

Stewart shook Delacroix's hand and flashed a quick smile. "You have a beautiful family. You're a very lucky man and I hope you realize just how lucky you are."

Suddenly the other's hand trembled in Delacroix's. Mister Stewart snatched his hand out of Delacroix's grasp and said, "I have to go. Goodbye." Without waiting another second, the young man hurried away.

Delacroix glanced at Mari, who was still standing, watching. He grabbed his coffee and his roll and made his way over to her. As he sat his coffee and roll on the table, Mari plopped down in her chair. Delacroix reached into his sports coat pocket, retrieved a handkerchief and offered it to her as the tears flowed freely down her face. He sat down next to her and leaned toward her. He asked her in French, "Are you okay?"

She sniffled, smiled at him and answered in French, "I'll be okay, Boo. I'll be okay." She paused and cleared her throat. Then she reached across the table and grabbed his uneaten roll and broke it in half. She put half back on his plate and took a bite of the half she held in her hand. She asked him, "How was your soup?"

He gently took her hand and patted it. "It's like my life," he said softly. "Very good."

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Chapter Three

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In every heart there is a room

A sanctuary safe and strong

To heal the wounds from lovers past

Until a new one comes along. - (And So It Goes - Billy Joel)

(The simulation training room)

This job was bigger than Virgil initially thought it would be. Yet, he was very happy with the results. It wasn't often that he got to do something on this scale and he was pleased with himself. He'd brought the materials with him and it took him just a few minutes to put a thin silvery coating on all of the armor Warhawk had given him except her mask, which he didn't want her to take off in case someone came in the room.

Warhawk stood in front of him wearing the armor he'd plated. He nodded. "It's all plated except for your helmet," he said. "If this works, I can plate that in your room."

He grinned as he added, "Looks good on you. Why don't you take it off and we'll put it one of the 'bots and test it one more time?"

Warhawk shook her head. "No." She walked to the center of the training room. "We'll test it on me now. Combat's the only real test that counts."

Virgil threw his arms in the air. "Pardon me, Warhawk, but that's just plain stupid. That's why we have the robots!"

"The robots aren't the ones who have to wear it. Virgil, it works or it doesn't. It will give me an edge if it works, but if it doesn't, I'll be okay. On Thanagar, before you graduate from the Officer's course, you put your armor on and then they shoot you with a laser."

Virgil chuckled. "That's one way of keeping the population down."

Warhawk continued. Her tone was sharp. "The charge on the laser isn't enough to kill you, but you don't know that. The purpose is to give you confidence in the armor and in its ability to protect you ... from everything. I have to have confidence that this will work or I can't wear it. I won't wear it. Understand?"

"I understand," he said. "I'll set it to level seven to start, okay?"

Warhawk nodded. Virgil turned and walked toward the control booth. "Say, do you know where Green Lantern is? I was just wondering, because I still haven't seen him yet and I wanted to say hello."

Warhawk frowned. "He's having lunch with Vixen."

She leaped in the air and hovered in the center of the room. He could see her taking a deep breath. "Set it to maximum and fire whenever you're ready."

Maximum? Virgil started to protest, but decided it would do no good. She had to have confidence in her armor, as she said. That woman is one cookie short of a Thin Mints box. He set the device to maximum just like she'd asked and pressed the fire button.

All of the 'bots in the room turned, pointed their weapons at her, and fired simultaneously. There was a bright flash of light and he heard Warhawk scream so loudly it brought chills to his spine. She was blasted out of the air and crashed into the far wall in a heap.

"Oh my God, I've killed her," he exclaimed as he rushed over to her. "Warhawk," he called out. "Shayera," he whispered. "Are you okay?"

She was stunned and disoriented. Virgil could tell she was trying to focus her thoughts. Trying to focus, period.

"Nugjat Maj!" she gasped. She said something else in another language he didn't understand before she whimpered, "Ohhhh, that hurts." She gazed at him, looking right through him. "Was that the maximum setting?"

Virgil nodded as he helped her stand.

"Good," Warhawk groaned. "Let's do it once more, but let me get my mace first."

As she picked up her mace, Virgil decided he'd been wrong about her. She was two cookies short of a box. Virgil returned to the control booth and awaited her signal.

She slowly rose in the air and nodded at Virgil, who started the simulation. He could see the weapons being pointed at her, but this time before they fired, she dived to the floor as the 'bots opened up. Virgil's heart quickened as she turned in mid-air and smashed two robots before she was hit by a blast from a third. That blast slowed her down enough that the remaining 'bots could fire and hit her. The resultant blast threw her against the far wall, this time with feathers flying all over the place.

Virgil shut the simulation down and ran over to her. He leaned over her and said firmly, "That's enough. The armor works."

Warhawk nodded and parroted after him. "You're right. That's enough. The armor works."

Virgil helped her stand. "Let's go to your room and plate the helmet." He shook his head in admiration. "It was awesome watching you in action again. It was just like old times, almost as if you hadn't been away."

Warhawk's eyes widened.

"Hmmm," was all she said as they left the simulation room.

Hol, you, sosi'hab. You could have been killed. Maximum! Who did you think you were, Superman?

Virgil walked beside her, steadying her as they made their way to her room. Yes, it was stupid, but the armor worked and more importantly, Virgil pointed out a problem she hadn't been aware of.

Wearing a new mask and costume wasn't enough if her fighting style announced who she was. It was bad enough that she had the wings and kept her mace; like a fingerprint, Hawkgirl had trademark combat moves. Warhawk would have to avoid using those exact same moves if she was to be successful. She'd have to watch tapes of herself and then make adjustments. Yes, she'd do that as soon as the headache, blurry vision and the ringing in her ears went away.

They were just in front of her room when she heard John's voice in her earpiece.

"Warhawk. Lantern here."

She stopped, stood straight, cleared her throat and pressed her earpiece to answer. "Go ahead," she said.

She couldn't read the emotion in his voice as he said, "I've just been immediately recalled to Oa. I'm leaving now from Paris." He paused and then added, "I will come back for you. Understand?"

She smiled weakly to herself. "Understood. How did your meeting go?"

There was the crackle of static as she heard him say, "I'm almost out of communications range. I say again. I will come back for you."

She pressed the earpiece harder trying to filter out the static noise. She repeated, "I heard." Then the line went dead and there was silence as she said: "you."

She turned to Virgil and said softly, "He said he'd come back."

(Oa)

Stewart's ring had started vibrating on his finger as he said goodbye to Mari's husband, and he'd had to make a hastier exit from the café than he wanted. He quickly scanned the immediate area looking for a secluded place to take the incoming transmission, but couldn't find one. Where's a phone booth when you need one? This secret identity thing is not gonna work.

He walked between two parked cars and in the space of two seconds, squatted between the cars and ringed a uniform on himself. Then he shot skyward at incredible speed, trying to become a blur to any bystanders.

He was about five miles above the Earth when he finally answered the transmission. It was the Guardian named Graila, who directed him to report to Oa immediately. He'd barely had enough time to get a transmission to Shayera telling her he'd been recalled before he was out of communications range.

Now, hours later, as Stewart stood in the meeting chamber of the Guardians at the Citadel, he wondered what else the Guardians could want from him.

"Galtre-Re says that you are ready for transfer to your new assignment," said Guardian Malivis without preamble. That sonofabitch promised me a year. I told him I needed just a few weeks and he told the smurfs I was ready anyway.

"Galtre-Re is an honorable Lantern," Stewart said. "If he says I am ready, then I am ready." He tried to keep the anger out of his voice.

"He also said that you involuntarily traveled to this time period as a result of actions against a criminal. Is that correct?"

Stewart wet his lips. He knew where this line of questioning was going and he was prepared. "Yes, sir," he said.

"You've made no effort to return to your own time period, but instead chose to stay here and accept an assignment to sector 2112."

"Yes, sir," Stewart nodded.

"Why? You could leave at any time. Using your ring you could have willed yourself back to your own time period. You could destroy this timeline if you wanted. You could have prevented the deaths of your friends who are buried in the Crypt of the Green Lanterns. You could have saved your friend, Rex Mason. Why do you choose to stay here?"

Stewart sighed. He put his hands behind his back. "Everything happens for a reason. I know you, the Guardians, are aware of the risks of time travel more than anyone. In this timeline you won the Great Battle. If I go back, how do you know that my ring won't be the reason we'd lose the war we won? Maybe, regretfully, it was necessary for my friends to die so that you could achieve victory."

Stewart stood straight, dropping his arms to his side. "Do you really want me to go back and test that theory? Are you prepared to live with the results? Because I'm not. I have to accept things as they are, not as I would like for them to be."

Malivis glared at Stewart. "And what about your friend who came with you? Is she prepared to give up what she had so that this timeline can continue?"

Stewart nodded. "She's already given up her home world so that my planet could live. She knows the repercussions of going back ... and of staying here."

Stewart looked at the Guardians, who were studying him intently. "My contribution to the winning of the Great Battle was for me not to be there. This is my time. I accept that now and I accept my reassignment."

Malivis shook his head. "We chose wisely when we chose you, John Stewart. Unfortunately, that doesn't change our need for a Green Lantern in sector 2112."

"I understand," Stewart acknowledged. "I'm ready to report. I just need to go back to Earth and pick up my..." He paused and looked Malivis in the eyes and said firmly, "Family. She's my family."

Guardians weren't known for smiling, but Malivis gave a hint of one as he said, "Not so fast." He looked around the rostrum. "Brother Guardians, I don't think this Lantern is ready for posting yet. I think he needs three years of retraining in sector 2814 before he reports to sector 2112. This Lantern can tell us when he is ready to report."

"Agreed," the Guardians chorused. Malivis looked at Stewart with a stoic face. "Do you have any objections to this, Green Lantern of sector 2112?"

"None at all, sir." None at all.

(Metro Tower - Warhawk's room)

Stewart sat on her bed. He'd told her of his reassignment and new status when he returned from Oa. She was understandably relieved to hear the news. Now she stood in front of the mirror, her black outfit complete with helmet and the silver colored armor.

She looked in her mirror at him and smiled.

"I do miss the hair," he said, "but I like the new name."

She unclipped the mace dangling from her side and held it in her hand as she studied her reflection.

"I like the name too," she said. "Didn't at first when J'onn suggested it years ago, but it does grow on you, doesn't it?"

John grinned and stood behind her. "It sure does, Warhawk."

He stepped between her wings and he could see her eyes widen as he put his arms around her waist. She took her helmet off and looked into the mirror, making eye contact with him.

"John," she said softly. "I ... "

He raised his hand and put his fingers to her lips. "Shhhh, we have this moment."

He reached around her waist again and pulled her tightly to him. "This is our time," he said softly. "This is where we belong."

She leaned back into his embrace. "Are you sure? Are you really sure you want to stay here? Stay here with me?" He noticed she emphasized the "me."

He glowed briefly with green energy and then said, "Puqni'lodj."

She turned around to face him, smiled and spread her wings fully. He pulled her close to him as she wrapped her wings around them both.

Pressing her head against his chest she softly whispered, "Puqni'lodj."

End