|Clementine isn't a vanishing (hitchhiker) wrote in doorslogs,|
@ 2014-02-25 22:02:00
|Entry tags:||door: dc comics, green arrow, supergirl|
Who: Kara (And Oliver Queen in italics)
There was nothing in Star City.
Oliver wasn't there, and Kara considered going back to Gotham. But she didn't want to disappoint Bruce and Diana, not when they were counting on her. Bruce had let her move to Gotham, even when everyone feared her. Damian's father had given her a home, and he hadn't asked her to leave when Damian was no longer there. And Diana, who she had hated in her own short-lived version of Gotham, had accepted her and listened to her. Kara didn't want to disappoint them, and they had asked this one thing of her. She wouldn't fail.
She knew to go to Washington. She had been there before, when she'd been imprisoned, both in this world and the one she'd come from. She knew that was where the council was in this place. If Oliver was working for them, then he would be there.
She'd only been gone from Gotham for half a day, and then she caught his voice on the wind. She could still remember him, and he was easy for her to find, even amid the chatter of life. She remembered him screaming, his arrow pointed at her. She couldn't mistake him for anyone, not even if she wanted.
The first snippet of conversation she caught was close enough for her to hear the fall of Oliver's feet.
"One of them can hear us." Oliver paced the Washington office, all too aware of the eyes that were focused on him from behind the heavy wood desk. "No matter what I say, she says that I'm lying, and I can't be certain what she knows or what she doesn't know." He came to a halt, standing in front of the desk with his hands clasped behind his back, the picture of calm, but anyone who knew him could see the agitation in his posture, in the clench of his hands. "I'm afraid that I won't be able to make any progress with any of them if she continues to talk as she is. Trust is difficult to build when one of their own cries foul every time I open my mouth."
She should have gone. Right then, she should have flown back to Gotham. But she didn't leave. She found a spot on the building housing the room Oliver was in, inching nearer and nearer until the voices were directly beneath her.
And then he left for the day, and she waited and waited. She didn't need to sleep or eat, and that usually tore her up and made her feel like the freak Damian had always teased her she was. But it was useful this time, and she was still there, listening, when Oliver returned the following morning.
Focused, she didn't notice the quiet whispers from within the building, the ones that indicated that she'd been spotted. She just listened and, eventually, she wanted to see. She hovered near the window, and she watched.
"I've been trying to get information on the Watchtower," Oliver began, leaning forward so that his elbows were upon his knees, fingers steepled together beneath his chin. "But they're not going to start spilling anything to me just yet. I may have an ally in Hal or even Diana, but the rest of them..." He trailed off, unclasping his hands as he leaned back against the leather back of the chair he sat in. The woman across from him was soaking in every word, the picture of ease and calm even with the subject matter at hand.
"I don't know what I'm going to do," he said a moment later. "I'm afraid it's gone too far south for me to recover to any sort of point where they'll even think of trusting me with any of their plans again." Oliver's mouth worked slightly, lips pursing. "The only thing I can imagine happening is if you were to denounce our involvement very publicly. I can act as though I'm on the run. Perhaps they would take me in after that, but even that's not a certainty."
She flew up, ready to return to Gotham, the conversation memorized in the sunstone that was tucked away in the pair of jeans she wore.
She didn't even see the Kryptonite-laced bullet coming.
She wouldn't remember anything that came after. The Somatic Reconditioning (courtesy of Lex Luthor), the intent faces of the scientists as they took sample after sample, the hushed voices that spoke of a Kryptonian army being developed. She wouldn't remember anything except the conversation with Oliver that was implanted deep, deep in her mind.
Oliver had defected. Oliver was loyal to Batman. Oliver was a traitor to the government.
She believed it without question, without doubt, without even the smallest hint that anything was wrong. And she woke with a sense of peace that she hadn't known since waking up in a crashed pod, everyone she knew and loved dead.
Without a care, three days later, she flew home.