Chapter Text
- Previously -
Bringing the noodles to her mouth, Shayera stole a quick glance across the Watchtower cafeteria. On the far side of the room, Arrow, Canary, GL, and Vixen chatted at one of the tables. Usually she tried to avoid this scenario, but after two days of back to back fights with no food, she had been willing to risk it. That, and it was becoming more difficult than usual not to run into John and Mari together. They had been joined at the hip everyday since John announced he was…
Leaving.
For an unspecified amount of time, into deep space, to the Vega system. Shayera tried not to think about how close that was to her home system. The thought of John being there, after the war had been lost…
The dread passed through her quickly before she pushed it away, taking a sip of water and leaning back in her chair.
They had been dancing around each other - friendly, casual, but cautious - ever since their conversation about Warhawk. Glaring at the food on her plate as if it was her enemy, she poked around the mixed veggies and pasta with her fork. That conversation had been three months ago.
During the last months, her mind had been a whirlwind of thoughts, hopes, and emotions. She needed to talk to him, alone and openly, at least once before he left. Because she knew she would regret it if she didn’t, like she had nearly done once - when his heart had stopped. All she wanted to do was tell him-
“Shayera, I need to speak with you.”
She blinked up at the dark man with a bold T across his face. Nodding, she motioned for Mister Terrific to join her.
“I’ll be quick, I promise.” He gave her a knowing smile and slid into the seat. “You know there is a League holding facility off the east coast. It’s being managed by one of our biggest financial supporters, Mr. Wayne.”
“Uh-huh.” Shayera shoveled another portion of noodles into her mouth and waved her hand for him to get on with it.
“It seems it’s reaching its capacity of things the League has collected over the years and Mr. Wayne is requesting that we clean it out.” He ventured cautiously.
“Terrific, why are you telling me this?” She drawled.
“The Thanagarian ship.” He stated and Shayera immediately straightened, her lips tight. “The one you flew back with Vixen and Vigilante. We need to move it.”
Shayera crossed her arms and spoke flatly. “Okay then, move it. You don’t need my permission.”
“Actually, Mr. Wayne requested that you make the final decision. He also asked if you could personally give it one last inspection. Apparently, he doesn’t trust anyone else to do it.”
Narrowing her eyes, she spoke through clenched teeth, “Tell Mr. Wayne that it doesn’t need one and that I don’t care what happens to it. Like all of the other stuff that has been left here.”
“I expected you would say that.” He sighed. “Though you and I both know it would be better to keep him happy if-”
“I gave you my answer.”
“Right.” Terrific cleared his throat and stood. “If you change your mind,” -she gave him a look as if to say she most certainly would not- “it’s in Hanger 52, Southeast Wing.”
Her eyes followed him as he hastily made his retreat, passing John’s table as he exited the cafeteria. John wasn’t typically one for public displays of affection, especially in a work environment, but today for some reason Vixen was nearly in his lap, her head nestled in the crook of his neck, his hand caressing her waist absently as they talked with their friends.
Clenching her jaw, Shayera bent the fork in her fist. She quickly moved it to her lap beneath the table with a grunt. Clearly she wasn’t going to find that moment with John now, nor was she in the headspace to do so. As if she were ever going to be.
She looked down at the twisted utensil. Weak little thing. Made from quiet dull ore on a thin crusted planet. Such cheap, dead metal. Nothing like her mace… or that ship. A sudden ache arced through her.
Shayera groaned and roughly grabbed her bowl as she stood from the table. Time to go see that damn ship, then.
{ ^ }
Shayera ran her hand over the cold metal of the battered starship and the dormant displays of its control system lined in Nth. A standard Class-C squad cruiser. An average looking vessel, one of countless in the Empire’s Military. Functional and compact, perfect for quickly navigating around other larger star cruisers… or escaping through enemy blockades.
A year ago, when Stripe and Beetle had approached her about scrubbing the ship clean in case there were any undetected threats, she hadn’t told them that the effort wasn’t worth it. She had bidden them good luck and hadn’t looked back, already knowing they would find nothing. Paran Dul and her crew had been a small, vengeful lot in the throws of escape. Escape from a world now conquered. There would be no one from the Empire listening, no one that would have more than a passing thought about a primitive planet on the other side of the universe. Not while they were succumbing to the rule of the Gordanians.
There was a knot in her chest and she swallowed against the tightening in her throat.
Generations of war. Over. Just like that.
And for what? To themselves become destroyers of worlds? To be conquered because of the foolish, prideful decisions to conquer others?
To lose because of one wayward spy that had grown enough of a conscious to consider ethics.
Shayera slid into the pilot’s chair and leaned forward on her knees. Staring at the floor, she reigned in the raw emotions, as she so often did these days. It was harder in a setting so familiar. She had flown these very ships numerous times. It may have even been the first type of vessel she was given permission to pilot. If she hadn’t been so reckless at the time, maybe even drunk, she might have remembered that moment.
Those first years felt like a lifetime ago. She had been so young - barely more than a fledgling when she began her training and still in the throws of adolescence when she first saw battle. That fierce teen, clawing for attention and rank, would have never imagined all that effort would be thrown away for the love of a people she didn’t even know existed. Nor that her choices would lead to the end of the war and… exile.
Shayera shook her head. There were too many memories tied up here - and freshly imagined nightmares, too.
The thought of the Gordanians on Thanagarian soil. Ransacking the intricate halls of Pal-Ra, pillaging the treasures of the Rheon Gallt, exhausting the natural beauty of Allura, burning the towns and cities along the Rakkachi plateaus. It made her sick. She had seen enough to know what kind of destruction and horror they left behind. They were her enemies for a good reason.
Though not enough of a reason for her to justify wiping out other worlds, apparently.
Shayera didn’t regret saving Earth. Not for a second. But the images of what the Gordanians could be doing to her people… the killing, maiming, enslaving… she knew that would haunt her for the rest of her life.
Rising and moving back to the loading hatch, Shayera shoved those thoughts and feelings deep down before they dared consume her. There was a reason she hadn’t stepped foot in this ship for over a year, and she would be more than happy to leave all of this untouched and unexamined for a thousand more.
“Are you sure about this?” Aquaman’s gruff voice greeted her as she exited the ship. He stood royally straight-backed with his arms crossed over his bare chest. He gave her a long look. “It is a fine vessel. It would be a shame to dispose of it when in the right hands of a skilled warrior-”
“I’m sure.” Shayera stated flatly.
She continued passed him, throwing her voice over her shoulder before leaving the room without another glance.
“Drown it. In the deepest trench you can find.”
Let it rot there at the bottom of the sea. Because she didn’t want to think about the councilman’s daughter, the teen cadet, the feared soldier, the spy-instructor, the commander’s mate, and the loyal lieutenant that she once was. Because she knew the day she let all of that surface, there would be no way to drown it again without going down with it. It would be sink or swim and it would take all of the nonexistent providence of fate to get her to dive in willingly.