![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
seriousficTitle: Before You Let It Go...
Fandom: DC comics
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 3,717
Acknowledgments: Thanks to Tracy and![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
lurkslikefox for betaing this.
Characters/Pairings: Scott/Barda, the Female Furies
Previous Part: 1/6
Next Part: 3/6
Summary: Scott meets the squatter in Barda's house.
The witches of Darkseid’s coven, their features long since melted by the dark powers they called upon, scryed space for integers of the Anti-Life Equation. Martha Parkin held one such black number. It didn’t manifest itself overtly, just an ex-boyfriend here, a rude customer there, but she had power enough to become a warlord to rival Genghis Khan.
As soon as she heard of a mission to Earth, Scott’s favored fantasy, Barda knew she had to have it. She boomtubed to the roof of Martha’s building and quickly took cover. Three hours passed. Martha returned from work. Barda waited until she was off-guard before attacking. She struck just as Martha was filling a man-sized porcelain bowl with water. The blow took the back of Martha’s head, leaving her unconscious with a spool of blood going into the water. Barda caught her reflection as the water tinted red. She was attractive, in a sense. It wouldn’t be inordante for Scott to be attracted to her. She wondered if she would be more attractive with her hair long, like Martha’s.
Not looking again at the bloody water, Barda summoned a Boomtube and brought Martha to Apokolips.
***
Barda’s visit to Earth hadn’t lightened Scott’s spirit as she’d hoped. Instead, he moped as annoyingly as ever, with added sputtering. “So you… you personally… it doesn’t bother you, what you did to her? A civilian?”
“It’s my job.” It wasn’t a real answer, and that mollified him. “I brought you a present.”
In Martha’s apartment, she’d noticed a bowl of foodstuffs. A spheroid edible had had a very vivid red color. It was not the shade of blood spilled, but it had the same… fervor. She’d taken it back to Apokolips.
“It reminded me of you,” she said, shoving it into Scott’s hands.
***
The apple would taste delicious, Scott could just tell. He kept it in a pocket of his work clothes, and even his gruel tasted better if he ate it while looking at the apple. It was Barda who noticed him doing it as she stomped through the kitchen. “Don’t those go bad?”
“If you take a bite out of one. The inside is yellow… or maybe white.” He moved his thumb over his chin at the mystery. “And once you break the skin, it turns brown. So I want to save it for a special occasion.”
Barda snatched it up and took a bite out of it, then set it back down in front of Scott. “This is Apokolips. There are no special occasions.” She chewed. “It is rather good, though.”
Scott watched a line of juice run down her chin before taking a bite himself. He spat out a seed on the table. When he looked at it, his face lit up.
***
As strange as it sounded, the worst part of Scott’s… imprisonment? Captivity? Really weird new circumstances?
The worst part of Scott’s present living conditions was when Barda left. Her house was big, but empty and quiet. Nothing to do, no one to talk to. He’d found seven seeds in the apple, various patches of fertile soil around the house (and one just outside the range his bomb would detonate, Darkseid’s balls), and the clean water from the filter he’d rigged up would hopefully make them grow. Two of the fertile patches weren’t so fertile, but the other five produced little saplings. Of those, two died no matter how much water he brought them.
Scott was just holding a staring contest with a surviving plant for the secret of its growth when he heard a rustle from behind him, in a thornfield. He turned and saw a flash of flesh, a blaze of dark hair, running between the vines.
“Hello?”
The rustling stopped.
“Are you the one who sings at night?”
There was a silence, but he thought he heard a note of confirmation in it.
“I’m not going to hurt you.”
“Doesn’t matter. I’m not allowed to let strangers see me.”
Scott thought about the childish tone of the words and then, being a bit of a child himself, turned his back on the girl. “There. Now I can’t see you and you can talk to me.”
The rustling got closer. “’Kay.”
“My name’s Scott Free. What’s yours?”
“Auralie.”
“That’s a very pretty name. I guess we’re not strangers anymore.”
She didn’t say anything. He was full of questions.
“So is it okay if I look at you? Does Barda know you’re here?”
“Does Barda know you’re here?”
“Yeah, I’m her…” Scott coughed. “Roommate.”
“You’ve mated with her?”
“What!? No, no… heck no.”
“Too bad. I think Barda could use the company. And I would make a good aunt.”
“Aunt? Then you’re Barda’s…” He squinted. “Can’t say I see the family resemblance.”
“They say I’m defective…”
“Who says?”
“Guys.”
“What does Barda say?”
“She says I’m nice.”
“Well, you just listen to your big sister.”
Auralie smiled brightly. “Big sister; you think that’s why they call her Big Barda?”
“Could be. Who knows?”
“Why do they call you Scott Free?”
His smile died a little. “Because I’m not.”
She danced closer to him and gave the sapling a tap. “What’re you doing?”
“Trying to get these plants to grow.”
“Why?”
“You see anything else to do?”
“You could dance.” Auralie did a graceful grand battement en cloche. “See? It’s easy.”
“Not for me. Two left feet.”
She bent down to examine his feet. “I count one. Have you tried a different light? This is stained. Plants need special light to grow. And love.”
Scott gave her a look. “I really can’t see the family resemblance.” He held his hand over a plant, putting it in the shade, then took his hand away. Put it back. Disgruntled, he pushed his breath out.
“Are you a slave?”
“Right now,” Scott said after a pause.
“Barda used to have so many slaves that I had to hide all the time, but she got rid of them all.”
“If she likes to be alone that much, I won’t be here long.”
“Maybe she likes being with you more.”
***
Barda enjoyed using her Mega-Rod. It had only recently been issued to her, but she already had a feel for it. As the defective Parademons swarmed in, she gave it a thorough work-out. Of course, training was no substitute for real combat, but it did give her and the Furies time to unwind.
“So, I hear you’ve taken a new slave,” Lashina said.
“Had him forced on me is more like it.”
“Sounds like fun.” Her whip swung a deformed Parademon through the ranks of its fellows. “I like putting welts on mine.”
Stompa crushed a skull underfoot. “Does he have a strong pelvis? I hate when they have weak pelvises.”
Barda wiped out a rank of amputees. “I wouldn’t know.”
Bernadeth was picking off the blinded with her heat-knives. “You didn’t try him out before you took him? That’s how you get stuck with queers. Not that those can’t be fun, so long as you have more than one…”
“I don’t intend to use him that way.” Barda knocked a skeletal Parademon through an obese one. “He’s a traitor to Darkseid. The very thought of his touch sickens me.”
“Can I have him then?” Knockout asked. “I'd take good care of the pup.” She was young and still struggling with her Parademon. Barda helped her.
“If you’re not getting some use out of him, kill the freak and be done with it,” Bernadeth said.
“If he’s foolish enough to face me on the field of combat, then I’ll kill him. Not before.”
***
Scott was just getting to sleep when he heard a rustle. A duct cover popped open and Auralie flowed out like water.
“I’m trying to sleep.”
“Barda went away again.”
“When’s the party?”
“I miss her.”
“Why?”
“She used to check to make sure I wasn’t hurt, and listen to me when I talked about my day, and bring me toys. But she doesn’t when she’s gone. And I get scared because she can’t protect me.”
“There’s nothing to be afraid of.”
“Barda says that too, but she doesn’t believe it either.”
Scott sighed and rubbed at his face. “Listen, you don’t have to worry about Darkseid. He’s on the way out. Orion’s gonna face him in the slums of Armaghetto, and then they’re gonna start calling this place Kissonthalips or something.”
“But what do we do until then?”
Scott sat up against the wall, getting comfy. “Have you ever heard of Kal-El of Krypton?”
***
Barda returned from another battle, victorious and not much else. She kept wondering if all enemies of Apokolips were like Scott. Caring, honorable, quietly set in their convictions with both dignity and humor… Maybe she would be better off in Glorious Godfrey’s ranks. She was starting to wish the enemy didn’t have to die.
She returned home, not in need of Scott’s services (the best the enemy had been able to throw at her that day were artillery shells), but bothered that he wasn't waiting there to inquire as to her health. Did he not care?
She went from room to room, jaw tightening as Scott remained unfound. She didn’t dare call out for him, though. Finally, she thought to look outside. She passed through the glass porch Scott had constructed, blinking against the peculiar light that illuminated the young apple trees. The soil gave under her boots disconcertingly.
Weirdest of all was the voice drifting through the leaves. Scott’s voice, but without the undercurrent of sarcasm and martyrdom. It was surprisingly pleasant to listen to.
“—the molten lead was so hot it burnt through Wonder Woman’s bonds, her costume… but not her invulnerable skin. So she climbed out of the vat, wearing only molten lead…”
“Scott? Scott?”
“Sorry. I always get distracted at that part. What is it?”
“I was just wondering if Wonder Woman could beat Barda.”
“Auralie, no one can take Big Barda. If they could, we’d call her Medium Barda, or Diet Barda.”
“Free!” Barda shouted, turning a corner to find them. They were resting in the shade of an apple tree. Scott was sitting against the trunk, puzzling out a pair of manacles, while Auralie was swinging from a branch by her knees.
“No, why would Barda take my last – oh, you’re home. Had a nice trip?”
Barda jerked her thumb over her shoulder.
Scott, with a bored look, propelled himself up to a stand with just his feet. “Stay here, kiddo, mommy and daddy need to talk.”
He followed Barda back inside, where she made her feelings clear by grabbing Scott’s throat and slamming him against the wall. “I should kill you right now.”
“Technically you should’ve killed me six months ago. Window of opportunity is closed.”
“You stay away from Auralie!”
“That’s your plan? You’re just gonna keep her tied up in your backyard like a pet?”
“What do you know about anything?”
“I know she needs a friend, like everyone.”
Barda squeezed. “She’s strong! Like me!”
Auralie’s voice rang from outside. “Barda, it’s okay for Scott to tell the story from the beginning so you can know what’s going on. I don’t mind hearing it again.”
Barda glared at Scott.
“What? You’ve got something against escapism?”
***
“And then what do you think Diana did? She slapped the taste out of that Parademon’s mouth, that’s what!”
Auralie pumped her fist. “Do the sound. Do it!”
Scott withered under Barda’s look. “I don’t know why you have a sudden need for sound effects, which I have never done before, but… I’m sure Barda is much more familiar with what it sounds like to pimp-slap a Parademon.”
***
The next campaign left Barda bone-tired. She came home still leaking blood and limped to bed. She had just pulled herself halfway under the covers when she bumped into something. Something warm. She threw off the covers to find Scott Free blinking blearily at her.
“What’re you doing here?!” she demanded.
“Sleeping. Now waking up.”
“In my bed!”
“You weren’t using it.”
“Get out! And be glad I don’t beat you!”
Scott rolled out of bed. Blessedly, he was wearing shorts. “I am lucky that way. Very awesome of you, not beating me. Really.”
“Wait.” He stopped just in front of the door. “Where do you sleep?” She felt guilty about not knowing, like it was somehow a lapse on her part.
“Furnace. It’s warm there. The heat cuts out for the rest of the house at night, so…”
“Is it… comfortable?”
“Comfortable?” He turned to give her a stark look. “What’s my frame of reference?”
Darkseid help her, that made her smile. She patted the bed.
“Well, I wasn’t sleeping there on a dare.”
She pointed to the floor. “See that?”
“The rug?”
“You can sleep there, so long as you’re quiet.”
Scott mimed zipping his lips. Then instantly disregarded that when a drop of her blood hit the floor: “You’re wounded.”
“I’m always wounded.”
He scowled, but said “Let me help.”
She was glad she didn’t have to ask.
He only had to pull a few pieces of shrapnel from her arm. It was a smooth procedure, although she wasn’t amused by how he yawned in the middle of it. Still, Scott made it painstaking work: Every time she winced, he pulled back with shame and apology, and it wasn’t until Barda squeezed his knee that he got the message that she didn’t mind. He was still so much more careful than any other medic she had known. He recoiled from causing her pain as if it were him that’d be hurt.
***
Despite all Scott’s efforts, the apple trees were just sticks with leaves. And even the leaves didn’t look that good. Scott checked and double-checked the water, the soil, the light. Then he just sat there and stared. If thornfields could grow for miles, you’d think one lousy apple tree could manage.
“Stupid plant. Why won’t you grow?”
“Have you tried singing to it?” Auralie asked, hanging off the eave of Barda’s house.
Scott was actually getting used to that. “No, I have not tried singing to it. It was on my list, right after listening to Glorious Godfrey with it.”
“That won’t help,” Auralie said, matter-of-factly. She plonked herself down into the dirt beside Scott, who refrained on commenting on how Barda would hate her little sister dirtying one of the dresses she’d so surreptitiously provided.
And she sang to the plants.
Later, Scott would be hard-pressed to remember what she sang or how she sang it, but the next morning, apples the size of his knuckles were taking shape on the branches.
***
Barda walked through the front door, trailing mud with each step. Scott looked up from his book. “Ahh! A mud monster!”
“Very funny.” Barda took off her helm and poured it out on the floor.
“I just cleaned that!”
“Is that subversive literature?”
Scott dog-eared his book. “We’re on Apokolips. It’s literature, hence it’s subversive. You need medical attention?”
“It is possible for me to walk out that door and not come back injured.”
“Probable, even.”
Barda flicked some mud at him. “Draw me a bath, slave.”
***
The bath was a cavity in the floor of the steam room, with two valves on the lip. It was five feet deep and wide enough for previous occupants who had dwarfed Barda. Scott ran the pipes and started up the jets, a converted recycler which purified the filthy water and heated it back into the bath. It was his own invention. Barda probably hadn’t noticed that he’d revealed it to her on her birthday.
Barda returned, bearing her armor in a net. She never took it off in his presence. She dropped it in the corner and noticed Scott staring at her. Not that she could be much to look at, covered in mud…
“It’s good to see you’re not hurt,” he said.
“Yes, well, I completed the mission, that’s the important thing.”
“To some.”
Before she got in, Scott filled a wide bowl with water and set if off to the side. Barda nodded at him, then stepped in. The bathwater was steaming hot. There was a bench on the bottom. She relaxed on it. The water came up to her chin; she dunked her head under and shook her hair, surfaced.
“So, how was the campaign?”
Barda leaned against the side of the bath, putting her head over the rim. “We won.”
Scott dipped her hair into the bowl. “You don’t sound so excited. You want perfume in your hair?”
“What’s it do?”
“Makes your hair smell like flowers.”
Barda frowned. “Why would I want that?”
“How would you know unless you try?”
Barda tiled her head back until she could see Scott crouched over her. “Do you want my hair to smell like flowers?”
“I… wouldn’t mind. Terribly.”
She straightened. “Do it.”
He poured a sweet-smelling vial into the bowl and began kneading the mixture into her scalp. His hands felt good on her skin – certain and confident. She stopped actively cleaning her body and just let the washcloth travel over her abstractly.
“We fought in the swamps of Einlos. It was hard terrain. We tried razing it, but the enemy had these bats that appeared from the canopy and ripped apart our Parademons. Command called the Furies in to plant firebombs across the equatorial belt.” She wrung out the washcloth and rubbed it over her face. “After the first one ignited a thousand acres, they surrendered. Wanted time to retreat. I should’ve reported to Command, but I knew they would’ve told me to kill them.” She paused. “So now all I can do is hope I’m thought of as incompetent rather than insubordinate.”
“You let them go?”
“Of course you approve,” Barda said sardonically. “I did something stupid. You must be the god of rank stupidity.”
“Well, look on the bright side.” He went to work dispersing the tension that was torturing her neck. “Darkseid will think that you’re incompetent and that your hair smells like flowers.”
She didn’t have the heart to criticize his bad jokes. Besides, he might stop rubbing her back. “You know, when Darkseid clears the deadwood out of his Elite and promotes me, I’m going to take you to my palace as my personal masseuse.”
“I might enjoy that.”
“I might let you.” She relaxed into his caresses, which unfortunately had stopped. “Scott? Little harder?”
“Will it make you happy? Being a general, I mean.”
“Of course. Why wouldn’t it?”
“Yeah. Why wouldn’t it?” He began combing her hair. “But for the record, I know you’re not incompetent.”
Next part.
Fandom: DC comics
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 3,717
Acknowledgments: Thanks to Tracy and
lurkslikefox for betaing this.Characters/Pairings: Scott/Barda, the Female Furies
Previous Part: 1/6
Next Part: 3/6
Summary: Scott meets the squatter in Barda's house.
The witches of Darkseid’s coven, their features long since melted by the dark powers they called upon, scryed space for integers of the Anti-Life Equation. Martha Parkin held one such black number. It didn’t manifest itself overtly, just an ex-boyfriend here, a rude customer there, but she had power enough to become a warlord to rival Genghis Khan.
As soon as she heard of a mission to Earth, Scott’s favored fantasy, Barda knew she had to have it. She boomtubed to the roof of Martha’s building and quickly took cover. Three hours passed. Martha returned from work. Barda waited until she was off-guard before attacking. She struck just as Martha was filling a man-sized porcelain bowl with water. The blow took the back of Martha’s head, leaving her unconscious with a spool of blood going into the water. Barda caught her reflection as the water tinted red. She was attractive, in a sense. It wouldn’t be inordante for Scott to be attracted to her. She wondered if she would be more attractive with her hair long, like Martha’s.
Not looking again at the bloody water, Barda summoned a Boomtube and brought Martha to Apokolips.
***
Barda’s visit to Earth hadn’t lightened Scott’s spirit as she’d hoped. Instead, he moped as annoyingly as ever, with added sputtering. “So you… you personally… it doesn’t bother you, what you did to her? A civilian?”
“It’s my job.” It wasn’t a real answer, and that mollified him. “I brought you a present.”
In Martha’s apartment, she’d noticed a bowl of foodstuffs. A spheroid edible had had a very vivid red color. It was not the shade of blood spilled, but it had the same… fervor. She’d taken it back to Apokolips.
“It reminded me of you,” she said, shoving it into Scott’s hands.
***
The apple would taste delicious, Scott could just tell. He kept it in a pocket of his work clothes, and even his gruel tasted better if he ate it while looking at the apple. It was Barda who noticed him doing it as she stomped through the kitchen. “Don’t those go bad?”
“If you take a bite out of one. The inside is yellow… or maybe white.” He moved his thumb over his chin at the mystery. “And once you break the skin, it turns brown. So I want to save it for a special occasion.”
Barda snatched it up and took a bite out of it, then set it back down in front of Scott. “This is Apokolips. There are no special occasions.” She chewed. “It is rather good, though.”
Scott watched a line of juice run down her chin before taking a bite himself. He spat out a seed on the table. When he looked at it, his face lit up.
***
As strange as it sounded, the worst part of Scott’s… imprisonment? Captivity? Really weird new circumstances?
The worst part of Scott’s present living conditions was when Barda left. Her house was big, but empty and quiet. Nothing to do, no one to talk to. He’d found seven seeds in the apple, various patches of fertile soil around the house (and one just outside the range his bomb would detonate, Darkseid’s balls), and the clean water from the filter he’d rigged up would hopefully make them grow. Two of the fertile patches weren’t so fertile, but the other five produced little saplings. Of those, two died no matter how much water he brought them.
Scott was just holding a staring contest with a surviving plant for the secret of its growth when he heard a rustle from behind him, in a thornfield. He turned and saw a flash of flesh, a blaze of dark hair, running between the vines.
“Hello?”
The rustling stopped.
“Are you the one who sings at night?”
There was a silence, but he thought he heard a note of confirmation in it.
“I’m not going to hurt you.”
“Doesn’t matter. I’m not allowed to let strangers see me.”
Scott thought about the childish tone of the words and then, being a bit of a child himself, turned his back on the girl. “There. Now I can’t see you and you can talk to me.”
The rustling got closer. “’Kay.”
“My name’s Scott Free. What’s yours?”
“Auralie.”
“That’s a very pretty name. I guess we’re not strangers anymore.”
She didn’t say anything. He was full of questions.
“So is it okay if I look at you? Does Barda know you’re here?”
“Does Barda know you’re here?”
“Yeah, I’m her…” Scott coughed. “Roommate.”
“You’ve mated with her?”
“What!? No, no… heck no.”
“Too bad. I think Barda could use the company. And I would make a good aunt.”
“Aunt? Then you’re Barda’s…” He squinted. “Can’t say I see the family resemblance.”
“They say I’m defective…”
“Who says?”
“Guys.”
“What does Barda say?”
“She says I’m nice.”
“Well, you just listen to your big sister.”
Auralie smiled brightly. “Big sister; you think that’s why they call her Big Barda?”
“Could be. Who knows?”
“Why do they call you Scott Free?”
His smile died a little. “Because I’m not.”
She danced closer to him and gave the sapling a tap. “What’re you doing?”
“Trying to get these plants to grow.”
“Why?”
“You see anything else to do?”
“You could dance.” Auralie did a graceful grand battement en cloche. “See? It’s easy.”
“Not for me. Two left feet.”
She bent down to examine his feet. “I count one. Have you tried a different light? This is stained. Plants need special light to grow. And love.”
Scott gave her a look. “I really can’t see the family resemblance.” He held his hand over a plant, putting it in the shade, then took his hand away. Put it back. Disgruntled, he pushed his breath out.
“Are you a slave?”
“Right now,” Scott said after a pause.
“Barda used to have so many slaves that I had to hide all the time, but she got rid of them all.”
“If she likes to be alone that much, I won’t be here long.”
“Maybe she likes being with you more.”
***
Barda enjoyed using her Mega-Rod. It had only recently been issued to her, but she already had a feel for it. As the defective Parademons swarmed in, she gave it a thorough work-out. Of course, training was no substitute for real combat, but it did give her and the Furies time to unwind.
“So, I hear you’ve taken a new slave,” Lashina said.
“Had him forced on me is more like it.”
“Sounds like fun.” Her whip swung a deformed Parademon through the ranks of its fellows. “I like putting welts on mine.”
Stompa crushed a skull underfoot. “Does he have a strong pelvis? I hate when they have weak pelvises.”
Barda wiped out a rank of amputees. “I wouldn’t know.”
Bernadeth was picking off the blinded with her heat-knives. “You didn’t try him out before you took him? That’s how you get stuck with queers. Not that those can’t be fun, so long as you have more than one…”
“I don’t intend to use him that way.” Barda knocked a skeletal Parademon through an obese one. “He’s a traitor to Darkseid. The very thought of his touch sickens me.”
“Can I have him then?” Knockout asked. “I'd take good care of the pup.” She was young and still struggling with her Parademon. Barda helped her.
“If you’re not getting some use out of him, kill the freak and be done with it,” Bernadeth said.
“If he’s foolish enough to face me on the field of combat, then I’ll kill him. Not before.”
***
Scott was just getting to sleep when he heard a rustle. A duct cover popped open and Auralie flowed out like water.
“I’m trying to sleep.”
“Barda went away again.”
“When’s the party?”
“I miss her.”
“Why?”
“She used to check to make sure I wasn’t hurt, and listen to me when I talked about my day, and bring me toys. But she doesn’t when she’s gone. And I get scared because she can’t protect me.”
“There’s nothing to be afraid of.”
“Barda says that too, but she doesn’t believe it either.”
Scott sighed and rubbed at his face. “Listen, you don’t have to worry about Darkseid. He’s on the way out. Orion’s gonna face him in the slums of Armaghetto, and then they’re gonna start calling this place Kissonthalips or something.”
“But what do we do until then?”
Scott sat up against the wall, getting comfy. “Have you ever heard of Kal-El of Krypton?”
***
Barda returned from another battle, victorious and not much else. She kept wondering if all enemies of Apokolips were like Scott. Caring, honorable, quietly set in their convictions with both dignity and humor… Maybe she would be better off in Glorious Godfrey’s ranks. She was starting to wish the enemy didn’t have to die.
She returned home, not in need of Scott’s services (the best the enemy had been able to throw at her that day were artillery shells), but bothered that he wasn't waiting there to inquire as to her health. Did he not care?
She went from room to room, jaw tightening as Scott remained unfound. She didn’t dare call out for him, though. Finally, she thought to look outside. She passed through the glass porch Scott had constructed, blinking against the peculiar light that illuminated the young apple trees. The soil gave under her boots disconcertingly.
Weirdest of all was the voice drifting through the leaves. Scott’s voice, but without the undercurrent of sarcasm and martyrdom. It was surprisingly pleasant to listen to.
“—the molten lead was so hot it burnt through Wonder Woman’s bonds, her costume… but not her invulnerable skin. So she climbed out of the vat, wearing only molten lead…”
“Scott? Scott?”
“Sorry. I always get distracted at that part. What is it?”
“I was just wondering if Wonder Woman could beat Barda.”
“Auralie, no one can take Big Barda. If they could, we’d call her Medium Barda, or Diet Barda.”
“Free!” Barda shouted, turning a corner to find them. They were resting in the shade of an apple tree. Scott was sitting against the trunk, puzzling out a pair of manacles, while Auralie was swinging from a branch by her knees.
“No, why would Barda take my last – oh, you’re home. Had a nice trip?”
Barda jerked her thumb over her shoulder.
Scott, with a bored look, propelled himself up to a stand with just his feet. “Stay here, kiddo, mommy and daddy need to talk.”
He followed Barda back inside, where she made her feelings clear by grabbing Scott’s throat and slamming him against the wall. “I should kill you right now.”
“Technically you should’ve killed me six months ago. Window of opportunity is closed.”
“You stay away from Auralie!”
“That’s your plan? You’re just gonna keep her tied up in your backyard like a pet?”
“What do you know about anything?”
“I know she needs a friend, like everyone.”
Barda squeezed. “She’s strong! Like me!”
Auralie’s voice rang from outside. “Barda, it’s okay for Scott to tell the story from the beginning so you can know what’s going on. I don’t mind hearing it again.”
Barda glared at Scott.
“What? You’ve got something against escapism?”
***
“And then what do you think Diana did? She slapped the taste out of that Parademon’s mouth, that’s what!”
Auralie pumped her fist. “Do the sound. Do it!”
Scott withered under Barda’s look. “I don’t know why you have a sudden need for sound effects, which I have never done before, but… I’m sure Barda is much more familiar with what it sounds like to pimp-slap a Parademon.”
***
The next campaign left Barda bone-tired. She came home still leaking blood and limped to bed. She had just pulled herself halfway under the covers when she bumped into something. Something warm. She threw off the covers to find Scott Free blinking blearily at her.
“What’re you doing here?!” she demanded.
“Sleeping. Now waking up.”
“In my bed!”
“You weren’t using it.”
“Get out! And be glad I don’t beat you!”
Scott rolled out of bed. Blessedly, he was wearing shorts. “I am lucky that way. Very awesome of you, not beating me. Really.”
“Wait.” He stopped just in front of the door. “Where do you sleep?” She felt guilty about not knowing, like it was somehow a lapse on her part.
“Furnace. It’s warm there. The heat cuts out for the rest of the house at night, so…”
“Is it… comfortable?”
“Comfortable?” He turned to give her a stark look. “What’s my frame of reference?”
Darkseid help her, that made her smile. She patted the bed.
“Well, I wasn’t sleeping there on a dare.”
She pointed to the floor. “See that?”
“The rug?”
“You can sleep there, so long as you’re quiet.”
Scott mimed zipping his lips. Then instantly disregarded that when a drop of her blood hit the floor: “You’re wounded.”
“I’m always wounded.”
He scowled, but said “Let me help.”
She was glad she didn’t have to ask.
He only had to pull a few pieces of shrapnel from her arm. It was a smooth procedure, although she wasn’t amused by how he yawned in the middle of it. Still, Scott made it painstaking work: Every time she winced, he pulled back with shame and apology, and it wasn’t until Barda squeezed his knee that he got the message that she didn’t mind. He was still so much more careful than any other medic she had known. He recoiled from causing her pain as if it were him that’d be hurt.
***
Despite all Scott’s efforts, the apple trees were just sticks with leaves. And even the leaves didn’t look that good. Scott checked and double-checked the water, the soil, the light. Then he just sat there and stared. If thornfields could grow for miles, you’d think one lousy apple tree could manage.
“Stupid plant. Why won’t you grow?”
“Have you tried singing to it?” Auralie asked, hanging off the eave of Barda’s house.
Scott was actually getting used to that. “No, I have not tried singing to it. It was on my list, right after listening to Glorious Godfrey with it.”
“That won’t help,” Auralie said, matter-of-factly. She plonked herself down into the dirt beside Scott, who refrained on commenting on how Barda would hate her little sister dirtying one of the dresses she’d so surreptitiously provided.
And she sang to the plants.
Later, Scott would be hard-pressed to remember what she sang or how she sang it, but the next morning, apples the size of his knuckles were taking shape on the branches.
***
Barda walked through the front door, trailing mud with each step. Scott looked up from his book. “Ahh! A mud monster!”
“Very funny.” Barda took off her helm and poured it out on the floor.
“I just cleaned that!”
“Is that subversive literature?”
Scott dog-eared his book. “We’re on Apokolips. It’s literature, hence it’s subversive. You need medical attention?”
“It is possible for me to walk out that door and not come back injured.”
“Probable, even.”
Barda flicked some mud at him. “Draw me a bath, slave.”
***
The bath was a cavity in the floor of the steam room, with two valves on the lip. It was five feet deep and wide enough for previous occupants who had dwarfed Barda. Scott ran the pipes and started up the jets, a converted recycler which purified the filthy water and heated it back into the bath. It was his own invention. Barda probably hadn’t noticed that he’d revealed it to her on her birthday.
Barda returned, bearing her armor in a net. She never took it off in his presence. She dropped it in the corner and noticed Scott staring at her. Not that she could be much to look at, covered in mud…
“It’s good to see you’re not hurt,” he said.
“Yes, well, I completed the mission, that’s the important thing.”
“To some.”
Before she got in, Scott filled a wide bowl with water and set if off to the side. Barda nodded at him, then stepped in. The bathwater was steaming hot. There was a bench on the bottom. She relaxed on it. The water came up to her chin; she dunked her head under and shook her hair, surfaced.
“So, how was the campaign?”
Barda leaned against the side of the bath, putting her head over the rim. “We won.”
Scott dipped her hair into the bowl. “You don’t sound so excited. You want perfume in your hair?”
“What’s it do?”
“Makes your hair smell like flowers.”
Barda frowned. “Why would I want that?”
“How would you know unless you try?”
Barda tiled her head back until she could see Scott crouched over her. “Do you want my hair to smell like flowers?”
“I… wouldn’t mind. Terribly.”
She straightened. “Do it.”
He poured a sweet-smelling vial into the bowl and began kneading the mixture into her scalp. His hands felt good on her skin – certain and confident. She stopped actively cleaning her body and just let the washcloth travel over her abstractly.
“We fought in the swamps of Einlos. It was hard terrain. We tried razing it, but the enemy had these bats that appeared from the canopy and ripped apart our Parademons. Command called the Furies in to plant firebombs across the equatorial belt.” She wrung out the washcloth and rubbed it over her face. “After the first one ignited a thousand acres, they surrendered. Wanted time to retreat. I should’ve reported to Command, but I knew they would’ve told me to kill them.” She paused. “So now all I can do is hope I’m thought of as incompetent rather than insubordinate.”
“You let them go?”
“Of course you approve,” Barda said sardonically. “I did something stupid. You must be the god of rank stupidity.”
“Well, look on the bright side.” He went to work dispersing the tension that was torturing her neck. “Darkseid will think that you’re incompetent and that your hair smells like flowers.”
She didn’t have the heart to criticize his bad jokes. Besides, he might stop rubbing her back. “You know, when Darkseid clears the deadwood out of his Elite and promotes me, I’m going to take you to my palace as my personal masseuse.”
“I might enjoy that.”
“I might let you.” She relaxed into his caresses, which unfortunately had stopped. “Scott? Little harder?”
“Will it make you happy? Being a general, I mean.”
“Of course. Why wouldn’t it?”
“Yeah. Why wouldn’t it?” He began combing her hair. “But for the record, I know you’re not incompetent.”
Next part.
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Date: 2009-01-19 05:53 pm (UTC)I love it when great things happen on my birthday.
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Date: 2009-01-19 07:54 pm (UTC)-- I'm not sure why but this had me in giggles. Still loving these two. It's going to hurt a LOT when I finally read Infinite Crisis, isn't it?
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Date: 2009-01-20 08:11 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-01-20 06:54 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-01-19 09:35 pm (UTC)Lots of good stuff this chapter, but this? *laughs again* Perfect!
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Date: 2009-02-02 06:38 pm (UTC)Now I can't stop thinking of the phrase...
Date: 2009-01-20 05:09 am (UTC)Re: Now I can't stop thinking of the phrase...
Date: 2009-01-20 06:47 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-01-20 05:14 am (UTC)This series is just wonderful.
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Date: 2009-01-20 06:05 am (UTC)Careful about saying that, we're only two parts in.
Chapter 3 is where I introduce the Bollywood musical numbers.
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Date: 2009-01-20 06:10 am (UTC)Fine, so far it is wonderful. Happy?
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Date: 2009-01-20 06:27 am (UTC)