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seriousficTitle: Five Times Scott And Barda Fell In Love
Fandom: Fourth World
Rating: PG
Word Count: 4,402
Characters/Pairings: Scott/Barda, Oberon, Superman
Summary: Barda buys Scott a leather jacket, and other times they loved each other.
1. Backstage at Modine Theatre was a loud, garish mismatch of dancers out of costume, cigarette breaks, special effects being prepped, and spill-off from the stage, a reflection of the audience’s perspective. Big Barda didn’t like it. It seemed so… earthy to her. She didn’t understand why Scott would lower himself to this for currency, though Oberon assured her it was a substantial amount.
Why did they have to preen and posture for the humans when they could be ruling them? And why did she go along with it, her body humming with contentment when she took a bow with Scott, applause washing over him? It was a different feeling than victory, maybe even better… She still hadn’t figured it all out. She would stay until she did. Maybe a little longer.
“A thousand for you, five hundred for me, five hundred for Barda.” Scott tucked his cash into his wallet. “Good show, everyone.”
“How come Barda gets five hundred?” Oberon asked, riffing through his thousand. “All she did was stand there.”
“She protected us.”
“We weren’t in any danger!”
“Ever hear of a deterrent?”
“He’s right,” Barda said, in her faltering ‘quiet’ voice, so unused to speech that wasn’t orders or acknowledgment of orders. “I don’t deserve this.” She tried to hand the money-clip back to Scott.
“No, no, you need the money. Remember we talked about capitalism? You need it to buy stuff.”
Barda waved off his concerns. “If I see something I like, I can always take it…”
“No!” Scott and Oberon said at the same time.
“Oh, right,” Barda said, remembering. “That’d be bad. Even though I’m stronger,” she grumbled under her breath.
“Look, it’s out of my half of our commission, so I don’t see why you two care,” Scott said.
“Because he’s small!” Barda insisted. “Why should he get the most?”
“It’s an Earth thing,” Scott sighed. “We’ll go on a walk tomorrow through the boardwalk and if you see anything you like, you can buy it.”
Barda nodded contemplatively. She didn’t know why it was so important to him that she understand these Earth customs, their roundabout and inefficient ways of doing things, but she trusted him.
Oberon pulled Scott aside as Barda experimentally tried tucking her money away in various places on her armor. “Scott, are you sure about this? Teaching a woman to spend money—“
Scott crossed his arms.
“I’m just sayin’, this is a very rare opportunity! Why not teach her to cook steaks instead? Everybody wins that way.”
“She deserves a normal life. I won’t always be there to mollycoddle her. I mean, really, how long do you think Barda’ll put up with me?”
***
The next day, as promised, Scott took Barda on one of their walks. She consented to giving up her armor and, since they hadn’t heard back from the specialty shop yet, dressed in business casual from Men’s Big And Tall. Scott shivered a little in his short-sleeved shirt. It was the middle of February and he hadn’t expected it to be so cold in Gotham, failing to account for the temperature-canceling fibers in his costume last night.
All around them, in the tawdry evening sunlight, hustlers competed with legitimate business stands for tourist dollars. Lots of Batman memorabilia. Scott idly picked up a Robin plushie and held it out for Barda’s inspection.
“Why would I want this? I don’t need any of this.”
“Barda, I am not leaving here until you find something you want to buy.” Scott returned the plushie. “How about a hat? You can’t wear your helmet all the time.”
“Why not?”
“People will look at you funny.”
“People are already looking at me funny.”
It was true. Barda’s enormous size was gathering stares. Some took pictures.
“Well, less people will look at you funny.”
“Why should I care?”
“You shouldn’t!” Scott said quickly. “It’s just—you’re right, you don’t need money to be happy, but sometimes there are nice things. Like, what if you wanted to visit—“ He picked up a calendar from a stand and pointed the picture out to Barda. “Niagara Falls?”
“I’d open a Boomtube there.”
“Point.” Scott put the calendar back. “Well, how do you think I got that turkey we ate last night?”
“You didn’t kill it?” Barda sounded genuinely disappointed.
“Look at it this way. I paid for it to be killed. Eh? Eh?”
Something exploded nearby. Scott and Barda both turned, Barda a little more eagerly. Scott preemptively grabbed her hand.
“Oh no you don’t! Stay here, I’ll check it out. Remember the last time you barged in on a situation without thinking?”
“History will remember me as in the right.”
“Yes, but Newark is a nice place and it would’ve been nice to be allowed to visit it again sometime.” Scott pointed at her. “Stay put. Please?”
Barda rolled her head over with displeasure. “Fine. Have fun. Enjoy getting killed!”
“Always do!” Scott ran off.
Barda looked around the marketplace. Something quickly drew her attention. As another explosion sounded, she picked it up and held it out to the vendor. “How much for this?”
***
Scott got back, rubbing at a smear of dirt on his cheek with a wet nap. “Batman told me to butt out! Like this is his city! Like he owns the night! For a superhero, he’s really rude—“
Barda held out a bundle to him. “For you.”
Scott blinked. “Oh. Uhh…” Deciding that a delay might hurt her feelings, he took it and opened it up. “It’s a leather jacket.”
“It’s like armor,” Barda said approvingly. “So if you fall off a motorcycle you won’t get hurt.” She frowned with a sudden thought. “Do you ride motorcycles?”
“If I start, at least we know I won’t get hurt by falling off,” Scott reasoned. He tried it on. “Why’d you get this for me?”
Barda was taken aback by the question. She tried to walk through the process like it was a debriefing. “I thought about you. I saw it. I wondered if you would like it. I decided you would. I wanted you to have it. So, I paid for it.” She opened her hand to reveal crumpled dollar bills and some coins. “The merchant gave me change. Is that bad?”
“No, no, that’s fine.” Scott rotated his arms. “Good fit. Thanks, Barda.”
Barda nodded. “You’re correct to be thankful.”
“No, say ‘you’re welcome’.”
“You’re welcome.” Barda looked around. “That’s just an expression, correct? I’m not actually welcome anywhere?”
“You’re always welcome with me,” Scott said, half-listening as he examined the pockets of his new jacket, then realizing what he’d said. “C’mon, let’s see if we can find something I can buy for you. Do you like jewelry?”
“What’s jewelry? Can I hurt people with it?”
2. It was October and Oberon had put his foot down on the thermometer. They were going to save money and, by God, that meant either the heating bill or two-ply toilet paper, and no one who ate Barda’s cooking on a semi-regular basis could compromise on toilet paper.
Barda wore her armor at all time, practically skipping with contentment now that she had an infallible reason to do so (i.e. Scott couldn’t complain about it), Oberon wore a smoking jacket that made him look like Hugh Hefner fallen prey to a shrink-ray, and Scott wore Barda’s leather jacket on a daily basis. He’d worn it on and off in the past, depending on the climate of their tour, but now he kept it on and kept rubbing at the supple leather in private moments, with the look Oberon recognized from when he was planning out an escape.
“So, now that I’ve got the manacles off, all I have to do is escape from the alkaline before either the chemical reaction causes it to explode or the acid eats through my costume.” Scott rubbed his chin as Oberon waited at the computer for his response. “Any thoughts?”
“Don’t drop yourself into acid?” Oberon suggested.
“Now that’s just crazy-talk. Write that down in strike-thru font.”
Oberon dutifully typed it out.
“Do we have any goat cheese?” Barda asked, leaning past the doorframe. “I found a recipe on the Internet…”
Scott felt his stomach preemptively grumble. “No, I don’t think so.”
Barda kept looking at him, cocking her head. “You’re wearing the jacket I got you.”
“Am I?” Scott looked down. “Yeah, guess so.”
“You don’t have to.”
“No, it’s a good jacket, I like it.”
“I just got it for you because I couldn’t think of anything better.”
“No, you’ve got a good eye, this is some quality material.”
“I’m glad you like it.”
Oberon, bored, kept typing ‘JUST KISS ALREADY’ over and over again.
3. Barda bled off her rage in a stream of low, obscenity-filled ranting, only occasionally be audible when she brushed past Scott. “Stupid goddamn committee, doesn’t give a good goddamn that we saved the Earth just because their lawns got singed—“
“Are you allowed to say ‘goddamn’ when you actually are a god?” Scott eased her down into a chair, where he could rub her shoulders. “The implications are pretty staggering.”
“This is so unfair. We worked hard for this house! They can’t just kick us out because some goddamn supervillain comes here for revenge!”
“Well, the contract says they can. Next time, we’ll have the League’s lawyers look over it more closely before we sign.”
“Give me ten seconds alone with that bastard Dresden and there won’t be a next time—“
Scott kissed the side of her head. “C’mon, weren’t you getting bored of this place? You were always complaining you couldn’t find a good shooting range in town…”
“You liked it here.”
Scott smiled weakly, then more brightly. “We’ll move someplace better! Hawaii. Gay Paree…”
“I hate anything that makes you feel like you’re running.”
Scott wrapped his arms around her torso. “I don’t.”
“I just was finally feeling like… we were getting started on our real life. No more tours, no more Granny Goodness.”
Scott kissed her again before heading off to pack up the game room. “Maybe this is our real life.”
***
He finished another box, taped it up for Barda to carry, channeling his frustration into throwing clothes into the cardboard boxes. Four years. He thought they had it. They were putting down roots, getting to be part of the jumble. They actually had everything unpacked in neat-messiness, the JLI teleporter and the treadmill and everything. He was about to ask her if she wanted kids. It made him understand all those heroes who took out their anger issues on thugs and drug dealers. He wasn’t one of those, but damn if he couldn’t sympathize.
Scott stopped, feeling cool leather amidst all the fibers and wool. He picked it up. His old leather jacket, that Barda had bought for him before they got married. Thought that’d been lost two moves ago. He tried it on. Still fit. Why had he lost track of it? He looked at himself in the mirror and saw the hole over his ribs. Right. Parademon stinger-blast. He remembered how Barda had carried him to the Boomtube. He hadn’t thought she was capable of being so gentle.
He took a deep breath, the scent of fire-pits in the back of his throat. Being on Earth, being free, being in love… it was like chains had been keeping him from filling his chest with air. And now they were cut.
“Everything ready to go?” Barda asked, bracing her arms on the doorframe in a tight V.
Scott turned. “Yeah, just about.”
“Your old jacket. You found it.”
“Yeah.” Scott straightened it. “I was going to get it fixed, but then there was a world-shattering apocalypse,” Barda nodded, as if to say ‘ah, one of those’, “and I guess I forgot about it.”
“Still looks good on you.”
Scott, pleased, stuck his hands in the jacket pockets. “One day I have got to start riding motorcycles.”
“Well, throw it in the box, I want to get on the road before traffic hits.”
Scott grabbed her wrist as she reached for the boxes he’d amassed. She looked at him, with that warm curiosity that could never turn into the callous dismissal with which she regarded most everything else, and he took hold of her other hand. “I love you.”
“Good thing you married me then,” Barda said with a sheepish smile. Darkseid’s training went deep. She still didn’t quite understand the appeal of unchecked sentimentality.
“I don’t say that enough. Maybe because I think it so much—but, hey, if we never put down roots or have kids or anything else we want, as long as I have you… that’s enough. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me.”
“Says the man who escaped Apokolips?”
“I could stand a lifetime on Apokolips, just so long as I had you.”
Barda took gentle hold of his jacket’s lapels. “And I’d follow you to Apokolips and back.” She pulled him into a deep kiss, let him go, kissed him again, then straightened his lapels. “But instead, can we go to Hawaii?”
“I’ll see if they have any good shooting ranges.”
4. It was a bright day when they buried Barda. She would’ve hated that, Scott thought. He came in halfway through the service, still wearing last night’s clothes, wanting to laugh at all the heroes in their dark penguin suits. He didn’t hate them. He hated himself. He’d sold Barda on earth, freedom, love, like any of that could save her. If she was still a Female Fury, maybe she’d still be alive.
He walked past the rows of people, the students at her self-defense course, the wrestlers, the cops, the teammates, the Amazons, all of them staring at him like he was onstage. He decided then and there he was going to quit show biz. He just didn’t feel like performing for an audience that didn’t have Barda in it.
There was a bundle in his hands, faded, black, much worn and weathered. A sleeve slipped loose and hung down by his legs. He reached the coffin, open casket funeral, the burn in her chest under the closed lid, and opened it. He folded the jacket over her chest, feeling so impossibly angry she wasn’t in her armor, she would’ve wanted to be buried in her armor but he’d been weak and someone else had made arrangements and now it was all so…
What was the point?
“Scott, come on.” It was Clark, Kryptonian eyes behind glass, and he helped Scott, stumbling, into an empty seat. Someone else closed the coffin.
“—put her in the ground,” Scott said, his voice thick and watery. “Get it over with—doesn’t belong up here.”
Oberon was sitting next to him. “Stay strong, Scott. You gotta find the guy who did this. You gotta make ‘em pay.”
***
“She’s not dead.” Just the thought of it, just saying the fucking words, was like chains had been cut off Scott’s chest. He fell, drooping against a decapitated pillar. Around him, New Genesis was in ruins, but healing. The last of the Fourth World had been collected. Now it was his turn.
He’d solved the mystery, his mystery, all the answers laid out. And Superman was there too, to tell it to the survivors. Of course, the Kryptonian was currently busy with Orion’s death, but Scott could only feel the Infinity Man’s eyes on him.
“So I go with you and, what, it all starts over? Everything goes back to the way it was?”
“That is up to the Source,” the Infinity Man said.
“But I see her again!”
“Mr. Miracle, no!” Superman said, but just Scott’s look cut him off.
“Don’t call me that.” He watched as glass shards reformed into a window. “I go with him, I see her again.”
“Scott, listen to me. Oh God…” Superman forced himself to turn away from all the people he hadn’t saved. “You can’t trust him!”
“One way or another, I’m seeing Barda again.” He reached out to the Infinity Man.
“Scott!” Superman ran his hands through his hair, pulling apart that famous spit-curl. “For God’s sake, Scott… why?”
“Because she would do the same for me.”
He took the Infinity Man’s hand and escaped.
***
Not all of Third Genesis was bright and colorful. Some of it was shadows. Some of it was blood. Scott didn’t know why he found himself drawn to those parts. He wasn’t a soldier like his father. He could defend himself and others if need be, but everyone knew he didn’t belong on the frontlines. And yet, that’s where he had met her.
It was a small moon in the Lamprix system, one that worshipped Lightray. Scott had been acting as his father’s eyes at the garrison there, seeing if Lightray was successfully walking the delicate line between temple and military base, religion and exploitation, when there’d been an attack. There were casualties on both sides, but Apokolips was repelled. They took a prisoner, though. One high-ranking enough to be sentient, but too dangerous to go free. She knew too much. Izaya had wanted to returned her to the Source, but Scott… Scott had felt like he’d finally found a purpose.
The Fourth World had left deep pits in Third Genesis, sores in the planetary crust that could even be seen from floating Supertown. The Fifth World had put a prison there. Scott felt a curious sense of shame at that. He didn’t know much about the Fourth World, no one did, but it seemed distressing that the Fifth World was more warlike than their predecessors, even touching the planet with their conflict.
“This war… seems like it’s been going on forever,” he said, entering his side of the jail cell. “You ever wonder what you’ll do when it ends? I do. Probably won’t be finished in our lifetime, but it’s nice to dream. You dream about anything?”
She was as silent as ever, though her nostrils weren’t flaring with anger. That was a good sign.
“Yeah, your hands around my neck, probably. I brought you another book in case you were getting bored of not reading that one. This one is all about war and killing and that stuff. I know, you probably think I’m some peacenik, but I really don’t have a problem with war if it’s in books. People getting hurt, that’s what I don’t like.”
“Ten days.”
Scott started, looking around to check that they were alone. She’d spoken. The Barda had spoken.
“You’ve come in here for ten days,” she said from within her nest of manacles. “I say nothing, so you speak for me. You gibber. You blather. You spout twaddle. Why?”
“I don’t know… it just, seems to me like you never had a chance. All your life you’ve been living on Apokolips, playing Darkseid’s game, and you never really chose that life. I’d like it if you had a choice.”
“Darkseid is!”
“Yes, but a bird is too and bees are and… there’s more to life than conflict.”
“No.”
He approached the thermaglass shield. Beyond it, the Barda sat, chains on her arms and legs and throat, each movement carefully regulated. Like she was moving in rusty armor. She stared at him.
“You think all we are is mindless savages. We have honor. You think we’re brainwashed. As if I’ll convert to your pathetic level as soon as I see the glory of your culture.”
“Then you’re not afraid to see the glory of my culture?”
“You’re afraid to see mine.”
Scott scooted closer to the thermaglass. “Show me. Teach me. Just let me show you Third Genesis.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“You say you have honor? Swear to me on that honor… on Darkseid… that you will not try to escape or cause any harm, and I will take you out of here.”
“And you’ll listen to the ways of Anti-Life?” the Barda asked, doubting, looking around as if the trick he was pulling on her was written on a wall.
“I’ll listen to whatever you have to say.”
The Barda watched him, eyes taking in his body, his face, his eyes. Scott stared back, resolute. So close the thermaglass fogged with his breath. There was something about her. Something so aching familiar that he wanted to trust her against all reason. He knew there were some in Darkseid’s ranks, like Steppenwolf and Kanto, who saw war as a sport and conducted themselves accordingly. But that wasn’t the same as morality.
“You’re a fool,” she said. “I have information. You want it. Ten days you’ve wasted trying to befriend me when you could’ve been breaking me on the wheel.”
“I don’t want your information.”
“Then why am I still alive?”
“We don’t kill prisoners in cold blood.”
“Then give me a weapon! I’ll make it easy for you!”
“You want to leave, what are you waiting for? Darkseid to rescue you? Give me your word. We’ll walk as far as you want for as long as you want and I’ll bring you back safe and sound.”
“How do you know I won’t break your neck as soon as I’m free?”
Scott looked at her. He’d seen Apokoliptian warriors. They lusted for war. They ached for it, hungered for it, craved it like a drug. He’d seen her in battle, the calm center of the hurricane, cutting down all in her way on her ordered march toward her mission objective. She accepted battle because she didn’t know anything else. That seemed unspeakably sad to him.
But if she had a choice, she would choose to be at peace. He had to believe that, or Third Genesis was fighting for nothing more than territory and power.
“I know,” he said. “I trust you.”
“I swear on Darkseid, and on my own worthless life, that if you free, I will do no harm, nor will I attempt to flee your hold.”
Scott touched the thermaglass. It rippled and dissolved. Then he went to the Barda and grabbed each of the chains in turn, giving them the gimmicked twist that uncoupled them. Finally, she stood, twisting the kinks out of her body. The Barda was pure muscle, compact, corded, as finely balanced and lethal as a katana. She was a slim woman, only a few inches shorter than him, but her presence filled the room, towering over him. He was nothing to her, a bug underfoot, a fly to be swatted. All she had to do was think, and that was how soon he’d hit the ground.
“You take great risks,” she said. “Right now, I could rip you apart.”
“But you won’t.” He took her hand. “Come. There’s an orange grove a mile from her, you can stretch your legs and work up an appetite. Tell me of your world and I’ll show you mine and you can decide for yourself between the two.”
She remained motionless as he headed for the exit, jerking her arm with him. He paused, looked back to see the problem, then let go of her hand. He gestured for her to follow. Embarrassed, rolling her eyes at his cajoling, she went after him.
5. “A hundred days,” a voice said, and it took Scott a moment to realize it wasn’t a dream.
He rubbed at the sleep in his eyes. “Barda?”
She was sitting at the foot of his bed. “You left my cell unlocked. You didn’t bind my body. Nothing kept me from leaving. I could be back on Apokolips right now.”
“But you’re not.” He stated the obvious, which always seemed like a safe bet when it came to conversing with Barda.
“You’re not on Apokolips,” she said, equally obvious, not looking at him.
Scott rolled out of bed. “You look cold,” he said, shifting the subject to put her at ease. Scott threw open a converter chest and brought out a garment. “Here, put this on.”
She got up, the hover-jets of his mattress relieved to be free of the load, and took it from him. “Leather. I didn’t know that Third Genesis wore animal hides.”
“We don’t. That’s a relic of the Fourth World.”
“The Fourth World interests you.”
Scott nodded. “They faced great challenges then. A war, like ours. I wondered how they would deal with our situation.”
“And how did they?”
“They fought. Killed. Died.” Scott got up, cracking his neck. “It didn’t work.”
“You’re not afraid of me,” Barda said matter-of-factly. “Everything about me is calculated to provoke fear. My whole life has been devoted to becoming a thing of nightmares. I’ve broken my oath. I am here, with you, not in my cell. I could kill you.”
“You won’t.”
“I don’t know that. How do you?”
Scott chuckled. Shook his head. “I just do. On Apokolips, you didn’t have a choice. Here, you do. And I have to believe that if someone has a choice between good or evil, life and anti-life, they’ll choose good.”
“You want me to have a choice. It doesn’t matter to you whether I kill you or not, so long as it’s my choice?”
“Well, I’d rather you didn’t.”
“I swore on Darkseid that I would do no harm and not try to escape. Darkseid is. But many things are, and they also have a right to… be.” Barda pulled the jacket on. It was a little big on her. “I can’t kill you.”
Scott blinked, surprised.
“And I’m not going to try to escape.”
“There are lots of different ways to escape, you—“
She grabbed him by the neck and pulled him against her, feeling Scott’s warmth against her body, him feeling the ancient material crackle and chip beneath his fingers, his mouth pulsing against hers, his eyes closing and then hers following suit, then he pulled away when she stopped kissing him and was unaware of what to do.
“Know,” Scott finished.
“This is a quite warm garment. You should get one,” Barda judged, chin raised, eyes slitted. “I’ll leave now. I will see you again tomorrow.”
“You don’t have to go back to your cell.”
“I won’t. I’ll come here.” She backed into the shadows until she was gone.
“I’ll be waiting,” Scott whispered, falling back on his bed.
It felt like chains had been cut off his chest.
Author's notes: Chapter 1 takes place right around the beginning of Jack Kirby's initial Mr. Miracle series, Chapter 2 takes place more toward the end, Chapter 3 takes place in the Bwa-Ha-Ha League era, Chapter 4 takes place during Death of the New Gods, and Chapter 5 takes place in what I expect the Fourth World reboot will look like (yes, Barda being a "Maggie Q" kind of warrior who answers to The Barda instead of the cheesier Big Barda is exactly the kind of thing I expect from DC).
Fandom: Fourth World
Rating: PG
Word Count: 4,402
Characters/Pairings: Scott/Barda, Oberon, Superman
Summary: Barda buys Scott a leather jacket, and other times they loved each other.
1. Backstage at Modine Theatre was a loud, garish mismatch of dancers out of costume, cigarette breaks, special effects being prepped, and spill-off from the stage, a reflection of the audience’s perspective. Big Barda didn’t like it. It seemed so… earthy to her. She didn’t understand why Scott would lower himself to this for currency, though Oberon assured her it was a substantial amount.
Why did they have to preen and posture for the humans when they could be ruling them? And why did she go along with it, her body humming with contentment when she took a bow with Scott, applause washing over him? It was a different feeling than victory, maybe even better… She still hadn’t figured it all out. She would stay until she did. Maybe a little longer.
“A thousand for you, five hundred for me, five hundred for Barda.” Scott tucked his cash into his wallet. “Good show, everyone.”
“How come Barda gets five hundred?” Oberon asked, riffing through his thousand. “All she did was stand there.”
“She protected us.”
“We weren’t in any danger!”
“Ever hear of a deterrent?”
“He’s right,” Barda said, in her faltering ‘quiet’ voice, so unused to speech that wasn’t orders or acknowledgment of orders. “I don’t deserve this.” She tried to hand the money-clip back to Scott.
“No, no, you need the money. Remember we talked about capitalism? You need it to buy stuff.”
Barda waved off his concerns. “If I see something I like, I can always take it…”
“No!” Scott and Oberon said at the same time.
“Oh, right,” Barda said, remembering. “That’d be bad. Even though I’m stronger,” she grumbled under her breath.
“Look, it’s out of my half of our commission, so I don’t see why you two care,” Scott said.
“Because he’s small!” Barda insisted. “Why should he get the most?”
“It’s an Earth thing,” Scott sighed. “We’ll go on a walk tomorrow through the boardwalk and if you see anything you like, you can buy it.”
Barda nodded contemplatively. She didn’t know why it was so important to him that she understand these Earth customs, their roundabout and inefficient ways of doing things, but she trusted him.
Oberon pulled Scott aside as Barda experimentally tried tucking her money away in various places on her armor. “Scott, are you sure about this? Teaching a woman to spend money—“
Scott crossed his arms.
“I’m just sayin’, this is a very rare opportunity! Why not teach her to cook steaks instead? Everybody wins that way.”
“She deserves a normal life. I won’t always be there to mollycoddle her. I mean, really, how long do you think Barda’ll put up with me?”
***
The next day, as promised, Scott took Barda on one of their walks. She consented to giving up her armor and, since they hadn’t heard back from the specialty shop yet, dressed in business casual from Men’s Big And Tall. Scott shivered a little in his short-sleeved shirt. It was the middle of February and he hadn’t expected it to be so cold in Gotham, failing to account for the temperature-canceling fibers in his costume last night.
All around them, in the tawdry evening sunlight, hustlers competed with legitimate business stands for tourist dollars. Lots of Batman memorabilia. Scott idly picked up a Robin plushie and held it out for Barda’s inspection.
“Why would I want this? I don’t need any of this.”
“Barda, I am not leaving here until you find something you want to buy.” Scott returned the plushie. “How about a hat? You can’t wear your helmet all the time.”
“Why not?”
“People will look at you funny.”
“People are already looking at me funny.”
It was true. Barda’s enormous size was gathering stares. Some took pictures.
“Well, less people will look at you funny.”
“Why should I care?”
“You shouldn’t!” Scott said quickly. “It’s just—you’re right, you don’t need money to be happy, but sometimes there are nice things. Like, what if you wanted to visit—“ He picked up a calendar from a stand and pointed the picture out to Barda. “Niagara Falls?”
“I’d open a Boomtube there.”
“Point.” Scott put the calendar back. “Well, how do you think I got that turkey we ate last night?”
“You didn’t kill it?” Barda sounded genuinely disappointed.
“Look at it this way. I paid for it to be killed. Eh? Eh?”
Something exploded nearby. Scott and Barda both turned, Barda a little more eagerly. Scott preemptively grabbed her hand.
“Oh no you don’t! Stay here, I’ll check it out. Remember the last time you barged in on a situation without thinking?”
“History will remember me as in the right.”
“Yes, but Newark is a nice place and it would’ve been nice to be allowed to visit it again sometime.” Scott pointed at her. “Stay put. Please?”
Barda rolled her head over with displeasure. “Fine. Have fun. Enjoy getting killed!”
“Always do!” Scott ran off.
Barda looked around the marketplace. Something quickly drew her attention. As another explosion sounded, she picked it up and held it out to the vendor. “How much for this?”
***
Scott got back, rubbing at a smear of dirt on his cheek with a wet nap. “Batman told me to butt out! Like this is his city! Like he owns the night! For a superhero, he’s really rude—“
Barda held out a bundle to him. “For you.”
Scott blinked. “Oh. Uhh…” Deciding that a delay might hurt her feelings, he took it and opened it up. “It’s a leather jacket.”
“It’s like armor,” Barda said approvingly. “So if you fall off a motorcycle you won’t get hurt.” She frowned with a sudden thought. “Do you ride motorcycles?”
“If I start, at least we know I won’t get hurt by falling off,” Scott reasoned. He tried it on. “Why’d you get this for me?”
Barda was taken aback by the question. She tried to walk through the process like it was a debriefing. “I thought about you. I saw it. I wondered if you would like it. I decided you would. I wanted you to have it. So, I paid for it.” She opened her hand to reveal crumpled dollar bills and some coins. “The merchant gave me change. Is that bad?”
“No, no, that’s fine.” Scott rotated his arms. “Good fit. Thanks, Barda.”
Barda nodded. “You’re correct to be thankful.”
“No, say ‘you’re welcome’.”
“You’re welcome.” Barda looked around. “That’s just an expression, correct? I’m not actually welcome anywhere?”
“You’re always welcome with me,” Scott said, half-listening as he examined the pockets of his new jacket, then realizing what he’d said. “C’mon, let’s see if we can find something I can buy for you. Do you like jewelry?”
“What’s jewelry? Can I hurt people with it?”
2. It was October and Oberon had put his foot down on the thermometer. They were going to save money and, by God, that meant either the heating bill or two-ply toilet paper, and no one who ate Barda’s cooking on a semi-regular basis could compromise on toilet paper.
Barda wore her armor at all time, practically skipping with contentment now that she had an infallible reason to do so (i.e. Scott couldn’t complain about it), Oberon wore a smoking jacket that made him look like Hugh Hefner fallen prey to a shrink-ray, and Scott wore Barda’s leather jacket on a daily basis. He’d worn it on and off in the past, depending on the climate of their tour, but now he kept it on and kept rubbing at the supple leather in private moments, with the look Oberon recognized from when he was planning out an escape.
“So, now that I’ve got the manacles off, all I have to do is escape from the alkaline before either the chemical reaction causes it to explode or the acid eats through my costume.” Scott rubbed his chin as Oberon waited at the computer for his response. “Any thoughts?”
“Don’t drop yourself into acid?” Oberon suggested.
“Now that’s just crazy-talk. Write that down in strike-thru font.”
Oberon dutifully typed it out.
“Do we have any goat cheese?” Barda asked, leaning past the doorframe. “I found a recipe on the Internet…”
Scott felt his stomach preemptively grumble. “No, I don’t think so.”
Barda kept looking at him, cocking her head. “You’re wearing the jacket I got you.”
“Am I?” Scott looked down. “Yeah, guess so.”
“You don’t have to.”
“No, it’s a good jacket, I like it.”
“I just got it for you because I couldn’t think of anything better.”
“No, you’ve got a good eye, this is some quality material.”
“I’m glad you like it.”
Oberon, bored, kept typing ‘JUST KISS ALREADY’ over and over again.
3. Barda bled off her rage in a stream of low, obscenity-filled ranting, only occasionally be audible when she brushed past Scott. “Stupid goddamn committee, doesn’t give a good goddamn that we saved the Earth just because their lawns got singed—“
“Are you allowed to say ‘goddamn’ when you actually are a god?” Scott eased her down into a chair, where he could rub her shoulders. “The implications are pretty staggering.”
“This is so unfair. We worked hard for this house! They can’t just kick us out because some goddamn supervillain comes here for revenge!”
“Well, the contract says they can. Next time, we’ll have the League’s lawyers look over it more closely before we sign.”
“Give me ten seconds alone with that bastard Dresden and there won’t be a next time—“
Scott kissed the side of her head. “C’mon, weren’t you getting bored of this place? You were always complaining you couldn’t find a good shooting range in town…”
“You liked it here.”
Scott smiled weakly, then more brightly. “We’ll move someplace better! Hawaii. Gay Paree…”
“I hate anything that makes you feel like you’re running.”
Scott wrapped his arms around her torso. “I don’t.”
“I just was finally feeling like… we were getting started on our real life. No more tours, no more Granny Goodness.”
Scott kissed her again before heading off to pack up the game room. “Maybe this is our real life.”
***
He finished another box, taped it up for Barda to carry, channeling his frustration into throwing clothes into the cardboard boxes. Four years. He thought they had it. They were putting down roots, getting to be part of the jumble. They actually had everything unpacked in neat-messiness, the JLI teleporter and the treadmill and everything. He was about to ask her if she wanted kids. It made him understand all those heroes who took out their anger issues on thugs and drug dealers. He wasn’t one of those, but damn if he couldn’t sympathize.
Scott stopped, feeling cool leather amidst all the fibers and wool. He picked it up. His old leather jacket, that Barda had bought for him before they got married. Thought that’d been lost two moves ago. He tried it on. Still fit. Why had he lost track of it? He looked at himself in the mirror and saw the hole over his ribs. Right. Parademon stinger-blast. He remembered how Barda had carried him to the Boomtube. He hadn’t thought she was capable of being so gentle.
He took a deep breath, the scent of fire-pits in the back of his throat. Being on Earth, being free, being in love… it was like chains had been keeping him from filling his chest with air. And now they were cut.
“Everything ready to go?” Barda asked, bracing her arms on the doorframe in a tight V.
Scott turned. “Yeah, just about.”
“Your old jacket. You found it.”
“Yeah.” Scott straightened it. “I was going to get it fixed, but then there was a world-shattering apocalypse,” Barda nodded, as if to say ‘ah, one of those’, “and I guess I forgot about it.”
“Still looks good on you.”
Scott, pleased, stuck his hands in the jacket pockets. “One day I have got to start riding motorcycles.”
“Well, throw it in the box, I want to get on the road before traffic hits.”
Scott grabbed her wrist as she reached for the boxes he’d amassed. She looked at him, with that warm curiosity that could never turn into the callous dismissal with which she regarded most everything else, and he took hold of her other hand. “I love you.”
“Good thing you married me then,” Barda said with a sheepish smile. Darkseid’s training went deep. She still didn’t quite understand the appeal of unchecked sentimentality.
“I don’t say that enough. Maybe because I think it so much—but, hey, if we never put down roots or have kids or anything else we want, as long as I have you… that’s enough. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me.”
“Says the man who escaped Apokolips?”
“I could stand a lifetime on Apokolips, just so long as I had you.”
Barda took gentle hold of his jacket’s lapels. “And I’d follow you to Apokolips and back.” She pulled him into a deep kiss, let him go, kissed him again, then straightened his lapels. “But instead, can we go to Hawaii?”
“I’ll see if they have any good shooting ranges.”
4. It was a bright day when they buried Barda. She would’ve hated that, Scott thought. He came in halfway through the service, still wearing last night’s clothes, wanting to laugh at all the heroes in their dark penguin suits. He didn’t hate them. He hated himself. He’d sold Barda on earth, freedom, love, like any of that could save her. If she was still a Female Fury, maybe she’d still be alive.
He walked past the rows of people, the students at her self-defense course, the wrestlers, the cops, the teammates, the Amazons, all of them staring at him like he was onstage. He decided then and there he was going to quit show biz. He just didn’t feel like performing for an audience that didn’t have Barda in it.
There was a bundle in his hands, faded, black, much worn and weathered. A sleeve slipped loose and hung down by his legs. He reached the coffin, open casket funeral, the burn in her chest under the closed lid, and opened it. He folded the jacket over her chest, feeling so impossibly angry she wasn’t in her armor, she would’ve wanted to be buried in her armor but he’d been weak and someone else had made arrangements and now it was all so…
What was the point?
“Scott, come on.” It was Clark, Kryptonian eyes behind glass, and he helped Scott, stumbling, into an empty seat. Someone else closed the coffin.
“—put her in the ground,” Scott said, his voice thick and watery. “Get it over with—doesn’t belong up here.”
Oberon was sitting next to him. “Stay strong, Scott. You gotta find the guy who did this. You gotta make ‘em pay.”
***
“She’s not dead.” Just the thought of it, just saying the fucking words, was like chains had been cut off Scott’s chest. He fell, drooping against a decapitated pillar. Around him, New Genesis was in ruins, but healing. The last of the Fourth World had been collected. Now it was his turn.
He’d solved the mystery, his mystery, all the answers laid out. And Superman was there too, to tell it to the survivors. Of course, the Kryptonian was currently busy with Orion’s death, but Scott could only feel the Infinity Man’s eyes on him.
“So I go with you and, what, it all starts over? Everything goes back to the way it was?”
“That is up to the Source,” the Infinity Man said.
“But I see her again!”
“Mr. Miracle, no!” Superman said, but just Scott’s look cut him off.
“Don’t call me that.” He watched as glass shards reformed into a window. “I go with him, I see her again.”
“Scott, listen to me. Oh God…” Superman forced himself to turn away from all the people he hadn’t saved. “You can’t trust him!”
“One way or another, I’m seeing Barda again.” He reached out to the Infinity Man.
“Scott!” Superman ran his hands through his hair, pulling apart that famous spit-curl. “For God’s sake, Scott… why?”
“Because she would do the same for me.”
He took the Infinity Man’s hand and escaped.
***
Not all of Third Genesis was bright and colorful. Some of it was shadows. Some of it was blood. Scott didn’t know why he found himself drawn to those parts. He wasn’t a soldier like his father. He could defend himself and others if need be, but everyone knew he didn’t belong on the frontlines. And yet, that’s where he had met her.
It was a small moon in the Lamprix system, one that worshipped Lightray. Scott had been acting as his father’s eyes at the garrison there, seeing if Lightray was successfully walking the delicate line between temple and military base, religion and exploitation, when there’d been an attack. There were casualties on both sides, but Apokolips was repelled. They took a prisoner, though. One high-ranking enough to be sentient, but too dangerous to go free. She knew too much. Izaya had wanted to returned her to the Source, but Scott… Scott had felt like he’d finally found a purpose.
The Fourth World had left deep pits in Third Genesis, sores in the planetary crust that could even be seen from floating Supertown. The Fifth World had put a prison there. Scott felt a curious sense of shame at that. He didn’t know much about the Fourth World, no one did, but it seemed distressing that the Fifth World was more warlike than their predecessors, even touching the planet with their conflict.
“This war… seems like it’s been going on forever,” he said, entering his side of the jail cell. “You ever wonder what you’ll do when it ends? I do. Probably won’t be finished in our lifetime, but it’s nice to dream. You dream about anything?”
She was as silent as ever, though her nostrils weren’t flaring with anger. That was a good sign.
“Yeah, your hands around my neck, probably. I brought you another book in case you were getting bored of not reading that one. This one is all about war and killing and that stuff. I know, you probably think I’m some peacenik, but I really don’t have a problem with war if it’s in books. People getting hurt, that’s what I don’t like.”
“Ten days.”
Scott started, looking around to check that they were alone. She’d spoken. The Barda had spoken.
“You’ve come in here for ten days,” she said from within her nest of manacles. “I say nothing, so you speak for me. You gibber. You blather. You spout twaddle. Why?”
“I don’t know… it just, seems to me like you never had a chance. All your life you’ve been living on Apokolips, playing Darkseid’s game, and you never really chose that life. I’d like it if you had a choice.”
“Darkseid is!”
“Yes, but a bird is too and bees are and… there’s more to life than conflict.”
“No.”
He approached the thermaglass shield. Beyond it, the Barda sat, chains on her arms and legs and throat, each movement carefully regulated. Like she was moving in rusty armor. She stared at him.
“You think all we are is mindless savages. We have honor. You think we’re brainwashed. As if I’ll convert to your pathetic level as soon as I see the glory of your culture.”
“Then you’re not afraid to see the glory of my culture?”
“You’re afraid to see mine.”
Scott scooted closer to the thermaglass. “Show me. Teach me. Just let me show you Third Genesis.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“You say you have honor? Swear to me on that honor… on Darkseid… that you will not try to escape or cause any harm, and I will take you out of here.”
“And you’ll listen to the ways of Anti-Life?” the Barda asked, doubting, looking around as if the trick he was pulling on her was written on a wall.
“I’ll listen to whatever you have to say.”
The Barda watched him, eyes taking in his body, his face, his eyes. Scott stared back, resolute. So close the thermaglass fogged with his breath. There was something about her. Something so aching familiar that he wanted to trust her against all reason. He knew there were some in Darkseid’s ranks, like Steppenwolf and Kanto, who saw war as a sport and conducted themselves accordingly. But that wasn’t the same as morality.
“You’re a fool,” she said. “I have information. You want it. Ten days you’ve wasted trying to befriend me when you could’ve been breaking me on the wheel.”
“I don’t want your information.”
“Then why am I still alive?”
“We don’t kill prisoners in cold blood.”
“Then give me a weapon! I’ll make it easy for you!”
“You want to leave, what are you waiting for? Darkseid to rescue you? Give me your word. We’ll walk as far as you want for as long as you want and I’ll bring you back safe and sound.”
“How do you know I won’t break your neck as soon as I’m free?”
Scott looked at her. He’d seen Apokoliptian warriors. They lusted for war. They ached for it, hungered for it, craved it like a drug. He’d seen her in battle, the calm center of the hurricane, cutting down all in her way on her ordered march toward her mission objective. She accepted battle because she didn’t know anything else. That seemed unspeakably sad to him.
But if she had a choice, she would choose to be at peace. He had to believe that, or Third Genesis was fighting for nothing more than territory and power.
“I know,” he said. “I trust you.”
“I swear on Darkseid, and on my own worthless life, that if you free, I will do no harm, nor will I attempt to flee your hold.”
Scott touched the thermaglass. It rippled and dissolved. Then he went to the Barda and grabbed each of the chains in turn, giving them the gimmicked twist that uncoupled them. Finally, she stood, twisting the kinks out of her body. The Barda was pure muscle, compact, corded, as finely balanced and lethal as a katana. She was a slim woman, only a few inches shorter than him, but her presence filled the room, towering over him. He was nothing to her, a bug underfoot, a fly to be swatted. All she had to do was think, and that was how soon he’d hit the ground.
“You take great risks,” she said. “Right now, I could rip you apart.”
“But you won’t.” He took her hand. “Come. There’s an orange grove a mile from her, you can stretch your legs and work up an appetite. Tell me of your world and I’ll show you mine and you can decide for yourself between the two.”
She remained motionless as he headed for the exit, jerking her arm with him. He paused, looked back to see the problem, then let go of her hand. He gestured for her to follow. Embarrassed, rolling her eyes at his cajoling, she went after him.
5. “A hundred days,” a voice said, and it took Scott a moment to realize it wasn’t a dream.
He rubbed at the sleep in his eyes. “Barda?”
She was sitting at the foot of his bed. “You left my cell unlocked. You didn’t bind my body. Nothing kept me from leaving. I could be back on Apokolips right now.”
“But you’re not.” He stated the obvious, which always seemed like a safe bet when it came to conversing with Barda.
“You’re not on Apokolips,” she said, equally obvious, not looking at him.
Scott rolled out of bed. “You look cold,” he said, shifting the subject to put her at ease. Scott threw open a converter chest and brought out a garment. “Here, put this on.”
She got up, the hover-jets of his mattress relieved to be free of the load, and took it from him. “Leather. I didn’t know that Third Genesis wore animal hides.”
“We don’t. That’s a relic of the Fourth World.”
“The Fourth World interests you.”
Scott nodded. “They faced great challenges then. A war, like ours. I wondered how they would deal with our situation.”
“And how did they?”
“They fought. Killed. Died.” Scott got up, cracking his neck. “It didn’t work.”
“You’re not afraid of me,” Barda said matter-of-factly. “Everything about me is calculated to provoke fear. My whole life has been devoted to becoming a thing of nightmares. I’ve broken my oath. I am here, with you, not in my cell. I could kill you.”
“You won’t.”
“I don’t know that. How do you?”
Scott chuckled. Shook his head. “I just do. On Apokolips, you didn’t have a choice. Here, you do. And I have to believe that if someone has a choice between good or evil, life and anti-life, they’ll choose good.”
“You want me to have a choice. It doesn’t matter to you whether I kill you or not, so long as it’s my choice?”
“Well, I’d rather you didn’t.”
“I swore on Darkseid that I would do no harm and not try to escape. Darkseid is. But many things are, and they also have a right to… be.” Barda pulled the jacket on. It was a little big on her. “I can’t kill you.”
Scott blinked, surprised.
“And I’m not going to try to escape.”
“There are lots of different ways to escape, you—“
She grabbed him by the neck and pulled him against her, feeling Scott’s warmth against her body, him feeling the ancient material crackle and chip beneath his fingers, his mouth pulsing against hers, his eyes closing and then hers following suit, then he pulled away when she stopped kissing him and was unaware of what to do.
“Know,” Scott finished.
“This is a quite warm garment. You should get one,” Barda judged, chin raised, eyes slitted. “I’ll leave now. I will see you again tomorrow.”
“You don’t have to go back to your cell.”
“I won’t. I’ll come here.” She backed into the shadows until she was gone.
“I’ll be waiting,” Scott whispered, falling back on his bed.
It felt like chains had been cut off his chest.
Author's notes: Chapter 1 takes place right around the beginning of Jack Kirby's initial Mr. Miracle series, Chapter 2 takes place more toward the end, Chapter 3 takes place in the Bwa-Ha-Ha League era, Chapter 4 takes place during Death of the New Gods, and Chapter 5 takes place in what I expect the Fourth World reboot will look like (yes, Barda being a "Maggie Q" kind of warrior who answers to The Barda instead of the cheesier Big Barda is exactly the kind of thing I expect from DC).
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Date: 2009-04-06 05:47 pm (UTC)I love this fic. They are so fabulous and heartbreaking.
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Date: 2009-04-07 03:57 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-04-08 08:17 am (UTC)