[center][b][color=Slategray][sup][h1]F L A M E B I R D[/h1][/sup][/color][/b][/center]
[COLOR=slategray][INDENT][B][SUP][SUB][H3] Manhattan, New York [/H3][/SUB][/SUP][/B][/INDENT][hr][/COLOR][INDENT][INDENT][sup][color=darkgray]January 1[sup]st[/sup], 2052  |  6.05pm  | Carlyle Hotel [/color][/sup][/INDENT][/INDENT]

The words are barely out of my mouth before Mar has wrapped her arms around my neck. Growing up there had been a distance between me and my half-sister, walls that we had both put up to keep the other out. I don’t know, maybe all siblings who don’t share the same mother or same father go through the same thing. Right now, with my big sister’s arms around me, warm and safe, pulling me in so tight that it almost feels like she’s never going to let me go, I’m just happy that somehow, we’d managed to get it together and bridge that chasm. I feel something catching at the back of my throat and have to pull away before I start making a scene. Us manly tights types aren’t supposed to cry. Mar give’s me a knowing look, like she knows why I’m retreating from her. There’s a half-grin pulling at her lips. Clearly, she feels I’m trying to hard to be like grandpa Bats too. 

I want to say something to her, but I don’t know what. A moment like this, words don’t seem to lack the strength to convey my emotions. I’m still struggling when Wonder Woman’s fist crashes into my shoulder. She probably meant it as a friendly tap, but when you consider the fact that she’s an amazon and I’m just a Joe regular it hurts a lot more than she intended. I shift my gaze to her, meeting her glare, taking in the summer sky-blue eyes, the long falls of cornfield blonde hair, the porcelain skin, the high, perfect cheekbones. Even when she’s pissed off, she’s still beautiful. It’s a trait that runs on her mother’s side of the family.

“You didn’t think to call? Let us know you were still alive? We buried you James!” She asks the questions so Mar’i doesn’t have to. Sure, Lyta wants to know the answers too, but she’s an old hand at the superhero game. She knows that almost as often as not that when we capes die, we don’t stay dead. She wouldn’t look the gift horse in the mouth, not until after I’d got settled back in and was ready to answer those kinda questions. She’s only voicing them now because she knows my sister will want to know, but won’t want to ask me while the miracle of my being here is still fresh. Us bat brats don’t always respond well to emotional confrontations, not nearly as well as we do the physical ones - that would mean dealing with our emotions, after all, and the prevailing family wisdom is to bury those – and the fear for Mar’i will be that if she confronts me too soon I’ll stonewall her, with either jokes or silence, depending on whether I’m feeling more like dad or grandpa.

I go for the third option, and ignore the question.

“I’m sorry Lyta.” That takes her by surprise. She isn’t used to me apologising for anything. For a moment she looks like she’s going to call me out on my bullshit, but then she shakes her head and smiles. She grabs me by my costume front and pulls me in close before kissing me on the lips. Hard. We grew up together, me and Lyta, and while everyone half-expected for the future Wonder Woman to end up with Jonathan Kent, it was me she ended up with. Kind of. I mean, we’ve had the on’est-off’iest of on-off relationships, but as far as a free-spirited descendant of the Olympian Gods and the Justice Leagues answer to [i]007[/i] (if I do say so myself) can be said to have steady relationships, we’ve had a steady relationship.

She tastes of papaya and strawberries and pulls out of the kiss far too soon for my liking, leaving me craving more. There’s a playful twinkle in her eyes that makes me think she’s all too aware of that. 

“It’s good to have you back James.” She says. “Come, we will return to ambassador Demir’s side. The Legion may still be planning something, and you can tell us about your adventures in the comfort of his hotel room. Cass will be just as interested in hearing them as we are.” I blanche at that. I had no idea Cassandra Cain was going to be here. The former Batgirl has always unnerved me. Something about the way she watches you, like she knows what you’re thinking, and finds it incredibly boring. As a spy I’m all about keeping secrets, and just thinking that she might no mine always puts the willies up me. The fact she would absolutely destroy me in a fight, even without superpowers, probably has something to do with it too.

We take the elevator up, Lyta radioing the rest of her team about the new developments. Spitfire, acting as mobile air-support, predictably complains about being left out of the loop while Vulkan squees in happiness at the news I’m alive. It’s a bitter smile my face forms at that. I don’t even have to see my face to know the truth of that. My old Titan’s team, the one I led on L-day, is all here. 

What’s left of them, anyway. 

We enter the ambassador’s suite. The man himself is sitting at the table next to the window, looking out over the New York city skyline, his gaze empty, while Cass stands in front of the tv, flicking through news channels. Most of it is fixated upon the events in Thailand, but if it was bothering Demir having to listen to the chaos ravaging his home country he wasn’t showing it. Probably a little desensitised to the violence already. It’s amazing what humanity can adapt to, given time. 

I stand next to Mar’i, feeling sweat begin to form on my palms. I came here for a reason, I remind myself. I’ve made my choices, and have to live by them. No backing out anymore. The ambassador is talking, but I’m barely listening.

“Wonder Woman, do you think we can –” I’m not sure what it was he was going to ask for, because Cass interrupts him before he finished.

“No. This is not right.” I look up. She’s staring straight at me, her eyes wide and staring, like she almost can’t believe what she’s looking at. That shock, that disbelief, it’s the only chance I’ll get now. I’m moving before she can make sense of what she’s looking at, before she gets a chance to warn Lyta and Mar’i.

“Stop!” Cass commands. I ignore her, hand slipping to my utility belt, pulling forth a bird shaped throwing knife. A wind-ding, dad calls them, though Tim always preferred the term birdarangs. I just think of them as knives, because that’s what they are, really. Give them as many funny names as you want, they’ll always be knives.

And their purpose will always be to cut.

The ambassador has turned to face the commotion, though he doesn’t have Cass’ gifts for reading people. He’s surprised, obviously, not really sure what’s going on. My knife comes up under his jaw, and I force it through the skin and flesh up into his brain. Demir dies quick. He dies surprised. It’s not a noble end, but at least it’s painless. 

I stand there, panting, despite the fact I only moved a few paces.

[sub]“James …” [/sub] I hear Mar’I say.