The Zeta-Tube hummed to life with its familiar electrical whine, and Jessica Cruz materialized in Mount Justice's main chamber with the kind of exhausted relief that came from someone who'd just spent hours coordinating with cosmic-level authorities and was finally back among people her own age who understood that saving the world was absolutely terrifying even when you were supposedly qualified for it.
She looked around the cavernous space, her dark eyes—still wide with the kind of earnest determination that had made her worthy of a Green Lantern ring at fifteen—taking in the scene with the careful attention to detail that came naturally to someone who'd learned that missing important information could get people killed. The team was scattered around their makeshift living area like teenagers anywhere might be on a lazy afternoon, if lazy afternoons for most teenagers involved waiting for alien invasion fleets while surrounded by enough advanced technology to make NASA weep with envy.
"I'm back!" she called out, her voice carrying across the stone chambers with a mixture of relief and lingering nervous energy that suggested she had news worth sharing but wasn't sure how to begin delivering it without causing mass panic or premature heroic gestures.
Wally West looked up from where he'd been pacing around the coffee table in a pattern that was probably wearing grooves in the stone floor, his red hair—the exact shade of a particularly enthusiastic sunset—even more disheveled than usual and sticking up in about seventeen different directions like he'd been electrocuted. His bright green eyes, which always seemed to be moving just slightly too fast for normal conversation, were bright with the kind of manic energy that came from too much caffeine, not enough sleep, and a metabolism that required constant motion to prevent him from literally vibrating out of phase with reality.
"Finally!" he exclaimed, practically bouncing on his toes as he spun to face her with movements that were just a fraction too quick for normal human reflexes. "Please tell me you have good news. Or at least news that isn't actively terrifying. I'll settle for mildly concerning at this point, because my anxiety levels are already at about an eleven and I'm pretty sure my nervous system can't handle much more existential dread without short-circuiting completely."
"Wally," Kaldur'ahm said from his position near the tactical displays, his voice carrying that deep, measured calm that made him sound older than his seventeen years, though the slight tension around his dark eyes suggested he was just as anxious as everyone else and simply better at hiding it, "perhaps you should consider decaffeinated beverages for the remainder of the crisis."
"Decaf is not coffee, it's a lie wrapped in bean-flavored water," Wally replied with the kind of passionate conviction usually reserved for matters of life and death, which, given his metabolism, it probably was. "Besides, caffeine is the only thing standing between me and a complete nervous breakdown, so let's not mess with the delicate chemical balance that's keeping me functional right now."
"How did it go up there?" Kara Zor-El asked from her position near the kitchen area, where she'd been pretending to read a book about advanced Kryptonian mathematics while actually using her super-hearing to monitor emergency frequencies across three different continents. Her blonde hair, bright as spun sunlight, caught the afternoon light streaming through the cave's concealed openings, and her blue eyes—the same impossible shade as Earth's sky viewed from space—held the kind of focused intensity that suggested she was barely containing the urge to fly up to the Watchtower and demand to be included in whatever adult superhero meetings were determining the fate of the world.
Her posture was perfect despite her casual position, the kind of unconscious poise that came from being raised on a planet where grace under pressure was considered a basic survival skill, though the way her fingers drummed against her book's cover betrayed the same nervous energy that was affecting everyone else.
Jessica flopped down into one of the oversized chairs with the kind of dramatic exhaustion that only teenagers could properly execute, her Green Lantern uniform still crackling faintly with residual energy from the ring that had become as much a part of her as breathing. Despite her small stature, there was something about the way she carried herself that suggested hidden reserves of determination and the kind of quiet strength that came from having faced cosmic-level threats and somehow found the courage to keep standing.
"Well," she began, running a hand through her dark hair with the gesture of someone organizing thoughts that were too big and too important to get wrong, "the good news is that the adults have everything under control and there's a really impressive planetary defense grid that involves both advanced technology and mystical forces working together in ways that should probably be impossible but somehow work anyway."
She paused, her expression growing more serious as she processed the information she'd been given and tried to figure out how to deliver it without causing panic. "The less good news is that we're facing approximately three hundred Citadel warships with enough combined firepower to turn continents into very large, very flat parking lots, and our job is apparently to sit here and... wait."
"Wait?" Dick Grayson's voice carried from where he'd been practicing acrobatic routines on the cave's natural rock formations, apparently channeling his nervous energy into impossible gymnastic feats that would have made Olympic athletes weep with envy and probably violate several laws of physics. At fifteen, he moved with the fluid grace of someone who'd been defying gravity since he could walk, his dark hair falling into bright blue eyes that sparkled with the kind of mischievous intelligence that had made him both Batman's partner and occasional headache.
He swung down from his perch with the kind of effortless precision that suggested he'd never met a surface he couldn't land on, his movements carrying the same acrobatic flair that had made him a star performer before he'd become a hero. "They want us to just sit here while an alien invasion force decides whether Earth gets to continue existing? That's like... the least Robin thing ever. I'm supposed to leap into action and make clever quips while avoiding getting killed, not sit around being responsible and waiting for adults to handle things."
"It's not 'just sitting here,'" Jessica said with the kind of diplomatic precision that suggested she'd been practicing this explanation during her trip back from the Watchtower, "we're the backup plan. If things go badly up there, Mount Justice becomes the fallback command center and we coordinate resistance efforts across the globe. We're like... emergency superhero management."
"That's still basically sitting here," Conner Kent pointed out from his corner, where he'd finally abandoned his calculus homework entirely in favor of systematically reducing practice dummies to component particles with increasingly creative applications of super-strength. At sixteen, he'd grown into the kind of build that suggested he could probably benchpress a small building without breaking a sweat, his dark hair falling into blue eyes that held the kind of frustrated intensity that came from being physically capable of punching spacecraft but being told that wasn't a useful tactical contribution.
Despite his impressive physical presence, there was still something slightly uncertain about him, the way he carried himself suggesting someone who was still figuring out exactly where he fit in a world of people with decades of experience and cosmic responsibilities. "Just sitting here with more responsibility and better Wi-Fi."
M'gann M'orzz floated down from the upper levels, her green skin carrying that faint luminescence that indicated she was using her telepathic abilities to monitor the emotional temperature of everyone in the room, which was probably exhausting given how much barely contained anxiety was ricocheting around the cave like a pinball made of teenage neuroses. Her auburn hair framed a face that managed to be both alien and warmly familiar, with dark eyes that held the kind of gentle understanding that made her the team's unofficial emotional support coordinator.
"The adults are trying to protect us," she said gently, her voice carrying the warm understanding that came from someone who'd learned to navigate the complex emotional landscapes of teenage superheroes while dealing with her own adjustment to Earth culture, "they know we're capable, but they also know that some battles are too big and too dangerous for—"
"For kids," Zatanna Zatara finished, looking up from the advanced magical theory textbook she'd been using to distract herself from the fact that her father was currently standing on a frozen mountain preparing to help save the world through applied mysticism and backwards incantations. Her dark hair was pulled back in a messy bun secured with what appeared to be a magic wand that probably violated several international treaties regarding the casual transport of mystical artifacts, and her brown eyes sparkled with the kind of frustrated energy that came from being fifteen, magically gifted, and told to wait on the sidelines while cosmic forces determined the fate of everything she cared about.
Despite her youth, she carried herself with the kind of theatrical confidence that came from growing up around stage magic and real magic in equal measure, though the way she kept fidgeting with her wand suggested she was just as anxious as everyone else and considering whether reality really needed to follow quite so many rules during a crisis.
"They think we're too young and inexperienced for proper cosmic-level warfare, which is probably fair since most of us are still figuring out how to do our own laundry without accidentally destroying half our wardrobes."
"Hey!" Wally protested with mock indignation, his voice cracking slightly with the enthusiasm that made even his complaints sound cheerful, "I figured out the laundry thing months ago! It's all about speed-washing at just the right velocity to avoid creating textile-destroying sonic booms."
"That explains why all your shirts look like they've been through a blender," Dick observed with the kind of loving mockery that came from having known Wally long enough to develop an extensive catalog of his domestic failures.
"Those are speed-frays," Wally corrected with dignity. "They're aerodynamic. Very practical for someone who moves as fast as I do."
"Are we?" Roslyn Kent asked quietly from her position at the computer terminals, where she'd been monitoring news feeds and trying to track global military movements with the focused intensity of someone who preferred solving problems through careful analysis rather than punching things really hard until they stopped being problems. At thirteen, she was the youngest member of the team, but her red hair and green eyes—so similar to her older brothers'—held the kind of thoughtful intelligence that made people forget her age until she said something that reminded them she was still figuring out how to balance cosmic responsibilities with algebra homework.
She pushed her glasses up her nose with the gesture of someone who'd inherited both incredible powers and the kind of analytical mind that insisted on understanding exactly how impossible their situation was before attempting to fix it. "I mean, honestly? Because I've run the numbers, and three hundred alien warships is... a really concerning number of alien warships. Like, mathematically terrifying."
"It's an absolutely pants-wetting number of alien warships," Neville Kent said dryly from where he'd been working through strength training routines that would have hospitalized most professional athletes, his massive frame moving with the kind of surprising grace that came from having inherited Kryptonian physiology along with the family tradition of using understatement to cope with cosmic-level threats. At almost seventeen, he'd grown into the kind of build that made doorways look inadequate and had somehow managed to develop the driest sense of humor of anyone in the cave, his black hair falling into pale green eyes that held the steady, unflappable calm that made him the team's unofficial voice of reason.
Despite his impressive physical presence, he moved with the careful control of someone who'd learned that being incredibly strong meant being incredibly careful, and his tone carried the kind of practical wisdom that came from being the most sensible member of a family of flying heroes who thought subtlety was a suggestion rather than a strategy.
"But we've faced impossible odds before. Granted, not quite this impossible, but there's something to be said for our track record of surviving things that should have killed us all several times over."
"Not quite this impossible," Kara pointed out with the kind of honest assessment that came from having grown up hearing stories about her cousin's battles against cosmic-level threats and developing a healthy respect for the difference between 'really dangerous' and 'potentially civilization-ending.' "I mean, we've fought supervillains and criminal organizations and the occasional interdimensional horror that wandered through a portal looking for trouble, but we've never faced an actual invasion fleet with enough firepower to renovate the planet's surface from orbit."
The conversation was interrupted by movement from the kitchen area, where Koriand'r and Hadrian had been quietly sharing what appeared to be an impromptu cultural exchange session disguised as a late lunch. The Tamaranian princess was examining a peanut butter and jelly sandwich with the focused intensity of a scholar studying ancient artifacts, while Hadrian stood close enough behind her that his protective presence was almost tangible.
Koriand'r—who looked like someone had asked the universe to create the perfect combination of exotic beauty and dangerous power, then decided to make her tall enough to model for magazines when she wasn't busy being a warrior princess from another world—had the kind of striking features that made people stop mid-sentence and stare. Her long, fiery hair cascaded over her shoulders like liquid sunset, and her luminous green eyes seemed to hold actual starlight, giving her an otherworldly beauty that was simultaneously breathtaking and slightly intimidating.
"Perhaps," she said, her melodic voice carrying across the chamber with that distinctive accent that made even casual observations sound like poetry being recited by someone who'd learned English through passionate kissing rather than conventional study, "the adults believe that some threats require experience that can only be gained through surviving previous impossible situations."
She took a careful bite of her sandwich, chewed thoughtfully with the concentrated attention of someone who'd spent her entire life eating glowing fruit and crystallized sunlight, then continued with the kind of insight that came from someone who'd watched her own world die despite having heroes who seemed invincible. "My people had warriors who could shatter mountains with their bare hands, technology that could shield entire continents from orbital bombardment, weapons that could pierce the hearts of stars and leave them dying in the cosmic darkness. And yet when the Citadel came with sufficient force and proper tactics..."
She didn't finish the sentence, but the implication hung in the air like smoke from a distant fire, heavy with the weight of genocide and the kind of loss that couldn't be measured in numbers.
Hadrian's hand moved to her shoulder with the kind of natural, protective gesture that he probably wasn't even consciously aware of making anymore, his emerald eyes—the same impossible shade as captured sunlight filtered through perfect crystal—carrying the steady confidence that had made him a natural leader even before he'd developed the ability to fly and shoot energy beams that could level buildings. At nearly sixteen, he'd grown into the kind of classic good looks that belonged on movie posters, with dark hair that somehow managed to look perfect even after hours of stress and the kind of jaw that suggested he'd been genetically engineered for heroism and inspiring speeches.
Despite his impressive appearance, there was something genuinely warm about him, the way he carried himself suggesting someone who'd never quite gotten used to being the person everyone looked to for leadership but had accepted the responsibility anyway because someone had to and it might as well be him.
"The difference," he said quietly, his voice carrying that warm authority that made people want to follow him into battle even when the odds were mathematically impossible, "is that we're not fighting alone. And we're not fighting the same way previous civilizations fought. We've got advantages the Citadel has never encountered before."
"Such as?" Donna Troy asked, and her voice carried just a little more edge than the question strictly required, sharp enough to cut through the comfortable atmosphere like a knife through silk. She'd been maintaining her position by the training area with the kind of rigid posture that suggested she was holding herself in careful control, her storm-grey eyes—beautiful but currently dangerous as gathering thunderclouds—moving between Hadrian and Koriand'r with an expression that was perfectly neutral and utterly unconvincing.
At sixteen, she'd inherited all of the Amazons' warrior grace and beauty, with the kind of classic features that belonged on ancient Greek statues and long, dark hair that never seemed to get messed up no matter how much combat training she did. But right now, despite her perfect posture and carefully controlled expression, there was something coiled about her, like a spring under increasing pressure that was rapidly approaching its limits.
"Such as Superman, Wonder Woman, the Flash, and the entire Justice League," Hadrian replied evenly, his tone remaining calm and steady despite the subtle challenge in Donna's question, though something in his expression suggested he was finally starting to notice the tension that had been building for days. "Such as Green Lantern Corps support and magical defenses that most primitive worlds don't have access to. Such as the fact that Earth has a really annoying habit of producing heroes who specialize in winning battles they should logically lose through sheer stubborn determination and creative problem-solving."
"Plus," Wally added with that manic grin that suggested he'd found a way to channel his nervous energy into something approaching optimism, his freckled face animated with the kind of enthusiasm that made even cosmic threats seem like exciting challenges, "we've got secret weapons they don't know about. Like Zatanna's magic, and Roslyn's analytical skills, and Kara's ability to punch really, really hard when she's properly motivated."
"I prefer 'applied kinetic force solutions,'" Kara said with dignity. "It sounds more scientific and less like I solve problems by hitting them until they stop being problems."
"But you do solve problems by hitting them until they stop being problems," Conner pointed out with the kind of literal honesty that came from still learning the social conventions around polite fiction.
"Yes, but 'applied kinetic force solutions' makes it sound like I have a methodology instead of just really good instincts about which things need to be punched hardest," Kara replied with a grin that suggested she was perfectly comfortable with her problem-solving approach.
"And Jessica's ring," M'gann added supportively, floating closer to the young Green Lantern with genuine warmth, "the Green Lantern Corps doesn't choose cowards or quitters. They choose people who can face impossible odds and find a way to keep fighting even when logic says they should run away screaming."
"And Conner's ability to be really stubbornly heroic at exactly the right moment," Dick added with a smirk that was equal parts affection and friendly mockery as he settled into a casual perch that probably violated several laws of physics, "which is a surprisingly useful tactical advantage when you think about it. Enemies plan for a lot of things, but they don't usually plan for someone who's too stubborn to admit when they're beaten."
"And Neville's talent for being an immovable object when people need something to hold the line," Zatanna continued, warming to the theme with theatrical flair that made her wand glow slightly with sympathetic magical energy, "which is basically a superpower all by itself when you're dealing with cosmic-level threats that specialize in overwhelming force."
"And Donna's warrior training and complete inability to back down from a fight," Kaldur added as he emerged from the direction of the pool area, where he'd apparently been swimming laps to manage his own pre-battle anxiety. His dark skin gleamed with water droplets that caught the light like scattered jewels, and his calm demeanor was a welcome addition to the emotional chaos of teenage heroes trying to convince themselves they weren't terrified.
Despite being only seventeen, he carried himself with the kind of dignity that came from growing up in Atlantis and learning to navigate political complexities that made surface world diplomacy look like kindergarten finger-painting, though the slight tension in his shoulders suggested he was just as anxious as everyone else and simply better at hiding it behind royal composure.
"And Dick's ability to come up with impossible plans that somehow work," M'gann finished with a smile that encompassed the entire group, "usually because they're so completely insane that nobody could possibly prepare for them, including us."
"My plans are not insane," Dick protested with wounded dignity, his acrobatic grace evident even in his casual posture, "they're creatively tactical. There's a difference."
"What's the difference?" Wally asked with genuine curiosity.
"Insane plans don't work," Dick replied promptly. "Creative tactical plans work just often enough to be encouraging."
There was a moment of silence as they all looked around at each other—this collection of teenagers who'd somehow become Earth's backup defense plan, each one carrying powers and responsibilities that would have broken most adults while still dealing with things like homework and identity crises and wondering whether the person they had a crush on might possibly return their feelings.
"You know what?" Jessica said suddenly, her ring flaring brighter as her determination solidified like crystal forming in supersaturated solution, the green light reflecting in her dark eyes and making her look older than her fifteen years, "I'm actually feeling pretty good about our chances. We might not have centuries of experience or cosmic-level wisdom, but we've got something the adults don't."
"What's that?" Wally asked, bouncing slightly on his toes with renewed energy that made him vibrate just enough to blur around the edges.
"We're too young and too stupid to know when we're beaten," Jessica replied with a grin that was equal parts nervous excitement and genuine confidence, "which means we'll keep fighting long past the point where sensible people would give up and try to negotiate surrender terms with cosmic bullies."
"That's either really inspiring or really concerning," Conner observed, tilting his head with the kind of thoughtful expression that suggested he was still learning to distinguish between admirable determination and dangerous recklessness.
"Why not both?" Kara asked cheerfully, her blonde hair catching the light as she grinned with the kind of enthusiasm that suggested she found the prospect of impossible odds personally offensive and was looking forward to proving mathematics wrong through superior application of Kryptonian stubbornness.
As the group settled into a more comfortable discussion about their theoretical battle plans and completely hypothetical heroic scenarios, Wally caught Jessica's eye and jerked his head slightly toward where Hadrian stood behind Koriand'r, close enough that they were practically sharing the same personal space despite maintaining the fiction that this was just friendly cultural exchange and educational sandwich consumption.
Jessica followed his gaze and had to bite back a smile as she noticed Donna's carefully controlled expression and the way her hands had unconsciously clenched into fists at her sides, her Amazon training apparently warring with her personal feelings in a way that was creating visible tension in her posture. Then she looked at Dick, who was also watching the situation with the focused attention of someone who found interpersonal drama almost as fascinating as acrobatic challenges and considerably less dangerous to observe from close range.
Dick caught her looking and raised an eyebrow in silent question, then glanced meaningfully at Zatanna, who was pretending to read while clearly keeping track of every interaction in the room with the kind of focused attention that suggested she was either genuinely concerned about team dynamics or preparing to take notes for future blackmail purposes. Zatanna noticed his attention and looked toward Roslyn, who was dividing her focus between her computer screens and the ongoing romantic tension with the analytical precision of someone conducting a scientific study on teenage emotional complexity.
Within moments, a completely silent conversation was taking place across the chamber through meaningful glances, raised eyebrows, and carefully controlled expressions that would have made Batman proud of their observation skills and slightly concerned about their priorities during a global crisis.
M'gann, naturally, picked up on the undercurrent of wordless communication and floated closer with the kind of curious interest that suggested she found teenage social dynamics endlessly fascinating despite—or perhaps because of—her Martian upbringing.
Even Neville, who normally ignored interpersonal drama in favor of more practical concerns like whether they had enough emergency supplies and whether the cave's structural integrity could handle a direct hit from orbital bombardment, found himself drawn into the silent observation network as he noticed the way Donna was standing just slightly too straight, her jaw held just a little too tight, her attention focused just a bit too intently on anything except the obvious fact that Hadrian was standing close enough to Koriand'r to share body heat.
Conner, despite his usual obliviousness to subtle social cues that weren't directly related to combat tactics or mathematical problems, caught on when he noticed that literally everyone else in the room was engaged in some form of silent communication that seemed to center around the kitchen area where their resident alien princess was learning about Earth food under the protective supervision of their unofficial team leader.
"Okay," Wally finally said, his voice carefully casual as he abandoned any pretense of subtlety with the kind of directness that came from being physically incapable of keeping secrets for more than about thirty seconds, "I'll start the betting pool. How long until Donna snaps and either challenges someone to single combat or just starts throwing things? Because I've been watching her body language for the past ten minutes and she's definitely approaching critical mass."
"Wally!" M'gann protested, though her tone carried more amusement than actual disapproval, her telepathic abilities apparently picking up enough emotional turbulence to make her curious despite her better judgment.
"What? I'm just acknowledging what we're all thinking," Wally replied with unrepentant cheerfulness, his green eyes sparkling with the kind of mischief that had gotten him in trouble since he'd been old enough to run faster than his parents could catch him. "She's been doing that whole 'I'm perfectly fine with this situation' thing for three days now, and her body language says she's about two minutes away from deciding that diplomatic solutions are overrated and direct confrontation is the way to go."
"Amazon warriors are trained in emotional control," Kaldur pointed out with diplomatic precision, though his tone suggested he wasn't entirely confident in his assessment, "surely Donna has better self-regulation than—"
"Amazon warriors are also trained to address problems directly rather than letting them fester," Dick interrupted with the kind of psychological insight that came from having been raised by Batman and learning to analyze human behavior as a survival skill, "and watching your sort-of-boyfriend play protective guardian to an alien princess who looks like she stepped out of a fashion magazine has got to be pushing those 'direct problem-solving' instincts pretty hard."
"Sort-of-boyfriend?" Hadrian called from the kitchen area, apparently having superhearing that was just good enough to pick up the parts of conversations that were guaranteed to make social situations more complicated.
"Nothing!" several voices called back simultaneously, with the kind of coordinated denial that made their claim absolutely unconvincing.
"I give her twenty minutes," Dick continued, settling back into his observation position with the confidence of someone who'd made a career out of reading people's emotional states and predicting their likely responses to stress, "she's got excellent self-control, but everyone has limits, and this situation is basically designed to test those limits in the most psychologically challenging way possible."
"Fifteen minutes," Zatanna countered, her dark eyes sparkling with mischief as she abandoned her textbook entirely in favor of what was clearly becoming the most interesting entertainment they'd had all week, "Amazon warrior training includes emotional control techniques, but it also includes a really strong cultural emphasis on dealing with problems directly rather than pretending they don't exist until they go away on their own."
"Which never works anyway," Roslyn added pragmatically, "I've run statistical analyses on problem-solving approaches, and pretending issues don't exist has a success rate of approximately zero percent, with a margin of error that's also zero percent."
"Ten minutes," Kara said with the conviction of someone who understood the complexities of watching people you care about potentially developing feelings for other people while alien invasion fleets approached your homeworld and made emotional processing significantly more complicated, "she's been bottling this up for days, she's stressed about the invasion, and stress makes everyone's patience run out faster. It's basic psychology, complicated by warrior training and romantic frustration."
"I think you're all being mean," Roslyn said quietly, though her analytical nature couldn't resist adding, "but if I had to guess based on observable behavioral patterns and stress indicators... twelve minutes. Maybe less if Hadrian does that thing where he adjusts Koriand'r's hair or helps her with complicated Earth customs in ways that look unconsciously intimate."
"What thing?" Conner asked, his confusion genuine and slightly endearing in its complete obliviousness to romantic subtext.
"The thing he's doing right now," Neville said dryly, nodding toward the kitchen area where Hadrian had just reached up to tuck a strand of Koriand'r's flame-colored hair behind her ear with the kind of gentle, unconscious intimacy that suggested he wasn't thinking about the gesture as anything more than helping a friend, while she looked up at him with glowing green eyes that definitely suggested she was thinking about it as something considerably more significant and romantically promising.
There was a soft, distinctly Amazon sound from Donna's direction—not quite a growl, but definitely in the same linguistic family and carrying approximately the same emotional content.
"Eight minutes," Jessica said quickly, her ring flickering as she tried not to laugh at the situation while simultaneously feeling genuinely concerned about team dynamics and the possibility that they were about to witness their first major interpersonal crisis right before the biggest battle of their lives, "I'm revising my estimate to eight minutes based on new evidence and the fact that Donna just made a sound that suggests her diplomatic patience is running out faster than expected."
"Five minutes," M'gann said, her telepathic abilities apparently picking up emotional resonances that the others could only guess at, "and I'm not taking bets on this because it feels mean, but I am going to start subtly encouraging everyone to maybe spread out a little more so nobody gets hit by flying objects when the inevitable explosion happens."
"She's not going to throw things," Kaldur protested, though his tone suggested he wasn't entirely confident about that assessment and was possibly reconsidering his position based on M'gann's telepathic intelligence, "Donna is a trained warrior. She has excellent emotional control and sophisticated conflict resolution skills that don't involve projectile weapons or property damage."
"She's also a teenager dealing with romantic jealousy while under extreme stress about an alien invasion," Dick pointed out with the kind of psychological insight that came from having been raised by Batman and learning that human behavior became significantly less predictable when multiple stress factors were involved, "excellent emotional control has limits, and we're definitely approaching those limits at velocity. Plus, Amazon culture is pretty direct about emotional honesty, so diplomacy might not be her go-to solution here."
"What exactly are we betting on?" Conner asked, his literal nature requiring specific parameters for any hypothetical wagering situation, "because if we're going to run a betting pool, we should establish clear criteria for winning conditions and payout structures."
"Whether she'll challenge Koriand'r to single combat, challenge Hadrian to explain his intentions, or just start making pointed comments about alien princesses who don't understand proper social boundaries," Wally explained helpfully, his enthusiasm for interpersonal drama temporarily overriding his anxiety about cosmic-level threats, "I'm personally hoping for pointed comments, because those are the most entertaining and the least likely to result in property damage or actual bloodshed."
"I vote for her challenging Hadrian to explain himself," Zatanna said with the confidence of someone who'd observed enough interpersonal drama to recognize the warning signs and had developed a sense for how these situations typically escalated, "she's been giving him looks that could melt steel for three days now, and he's been completely oblivious because he's focused on being supportive and protective. Eventually she's going to decide that diplomatic hints aren't working and shift to more direct communication methods."
"What kind of direct communication methods?" Roslyn asked with scientific curiosity, her analytical mind apparently fascinated by the psychology of teenage relationship dynamics under stress.
"The kind that involve words like 'exactly what are your intentions toward the alien princess' and 'perhaps we should discuss the tactical implications of your emotional attachments,'" Dick replied with a smirk that suggested he was looking forward to the drama despite knowing it would probably end in emotional casualties on all sides, "delivered in that special tone that makes it very clear that 'discussion' is actually Amazon-speak for 'explain yourself immediately or face the consequences.'"
"She wouldn't actually..." M'gann started, then stopped as she caught the emotional resonances flowing from Donna's direction and realized that yes, she absolutely would, and probably sooner rather than later based on the levels of frustration and determination she was picking up telepathically.
"Oh, she totally would," Kara said cheerfully, her blonde hair catching the light as she grinned with the kind of enthusiasm that suggested she found the prospect of romantic confrontation almost as entertaining as the prospect of punching alien invaders, "Amazon culture is very direct about emotional honesty and relationship boundaries. If she thinks Hadrian is developing inappropriate feelings for someone who isn't her, she's going to address the situation head-on rather than letting it fester and create ongoing team dynamic issues."
"Is that going to be awkward for everyone?" Conner asked with genuine concern, his literal nature making him worry about practical implications rather than dramatic entertainment value.
"Spectacularly awkward," Neville confirmed with the kind of dry humor that suggested he was planning to find somewhere else to be when the inevitable confrontation occurred, "the kind of awkward that makes everyone involved question their life choices and wonder if maybe they should have just joined a nice, simple superhero team that only dealt with bank robbers and supervillains with comprehensible motivations and straightforward evil plans."
"As opposed to alien invasion fleets and complicated romantic triangles featuring interdimensional royalty," Jessica added, her ring flickering with sympathetic energy as she tried to process the emotional complexity of their situation.
"Exactly," Neville said with satisfaction, "this is why I prefer fighting giant robots. Giant robots don't have feelings, they don't develop complicated emotional attachments, and they don't create interpersonal drama that affects team cohesion during cosmic-level crises."
The conversation was interrupted by Koriand'r's musical laugh echoing across the chamber as Hadrian apparently said something that amused her, the sound warm and genuine and completely oblivious to the emotional tension building in other parts of the room like a storm front approaching from multiple directions. She placed a hand on his arm with the kind of casual physical contact that suggested she was comfortable with him in ways that went beyond simple friendship, while he smiled down at her with the kind of focused attention that suggested she had become very important to him very quickly and he wasn't particularly concerned about who noticed.
There was another soft sound from Donna's direction, this one definitely in growl territory and carrying approximately the same emotional content as a warning shot across the bow of diplomatic relations.
"Three minutes," M'gann said quickly, her telepathic abilities apparently picking up danger signals that were invisible to normal observation but absolutely terrifying to anyone who could sense emotional pressure building toward critical levels, "I'm changing my estimate to three minutes, and I really think we should all start moving toward defensive positions because I'm getting some really intense feelings from Donna's direction and they're not heading toward diplomatic resolution."
"Defensive positions?" Wally asked with delight, his eyes lighting up with the kind of enthusiasm that suggested he found the prospect of witnessing romantic drama almost as exciting as running at superhuman speeds, "are we talking about actual combat, or just strategic positioning to avoid being caught in the blast radius when Amazon diplomacy meets Tamaranean cultural exchange?"
"Both," M'gann replied, already floating toward the exit that led to the upper levels with the kind of strategic retreat that came from having telepathic advance warning of emotional explosions, "definitely both. And possibly some property damage depending on how directly she decides to address the situation."
"This is so much better than waiting around worrying about alien invasion fleets," Dick said with obvious satisfaction as he began calculating escape routes and optimal observation positions with the kind of tactical thinking that Batman would have been proud of if he weren't too busy coordinating planetary defense to appreciate his protégé's priorities, "I mean, we should definitely still worry about the alien invasion fleet, but at least now we have immediate interpersonal drama to distract us from the cosmic-level existential terror."
"Your priorities concern me sometimes," Kaldur observed, though his tone suggested he was also finding the situation more entertaining than he strictly should.
"My priorities are perfectly reasonable," Dick replied with wounded dignity. "I just appreciate a good dramatic confrontation between emotionally complicated teammates, especially when it involves someone finally addressing the elephant in the room that everyone's been pretending not to notice."
"The elephant being Hadrian's obvious protective feelings toward Koriand'r and Donna's equally obvious romantic feelings toward Hadrian?" Zatanna asked helpfully.
"That would be the elephant," Dick confirmed.
"Are we sure this is a good idea?" Roslyn asked, her analytical nature catching up with the potential complications of their impromptu entertainment. "I mean, shouldn't we be focused on preparing for the invasion rather than encouraging interpersonal conflicts that could compromise team cohesion during a crisis?"
"Team cohesion is exactly why this needs to happen now," Jessica said with surprising insight for someone who was still getting used to team dynamics and interpersonal relationships more complex than 'work together to punch bad guys until they stop being bad.' "If we go into battle with unresolved romantic tension and unspoken emotional conflicts, people are going to make bad decisions at exactly the wrong moments."
"Better to have the dramatic confrontation now, when we have time to work through it and maybe reach some kind of resolution," M'gann agreed, though she was continuing to float toward what she considered a safe distance from the impending emotional explosion.
"Plus," Wally added with characteristic honesty, "we're all terrified about the invasion and trying not to think about the fact that in a few hours we might be fighting for our lives against enemies with overwhelming technological superiority. A little interpersonal drama is actually a really good distraction from the existential terror."
"When you put it like that," Conner said slowly, "I guess it makes sense. Sort of. In a weird, psychologically complicated way that I don't really understand but can accept as probably healthy."
"It's definitely psychologically complicated," Kara confirmed. "But so is everything else about being a teenage superhero, so this is really just par for the course."
"Two minutes," M'gann announced, her telepathic senses apparently detecting emotional pressure building toward critical levels. "Everyone should probably find somewhere safe to observe from, because I'm getting some really intense feelings from Donna's direction and they're not heading toward diplomatic resolution."
"Define 'safe,'" Neville said, already calculating the structural integrity of various cave formations and their ability to withstand Amazon-strength emotional outbursts.
"Far enough away that we won't get caught in the blast radius, close enough that we can intervene if things get actually dangerous rather than just dramatically awkward," Dick replied, positioning himself behind a convenient support pillar that offered both protection and an excellent view of the developing situation.
"Are we sure we should be encouraging this?" Kaldur asked, his natural diplomatic instincts conflicting with his growing curiosity about how the confrontation would unfold.
"We're not encouraging anything," Zatanna pointed out with the kind of precision that suggested she'd thought this through carefully. "We're just... providing an audience for something that was going to happen anyway. Donna's been building up to this for days, and it's better for team dynamics if she gets it out of her system now rather than letting it explode during actual combat."
"Besides," Roslyn added pragmatically, "someone needs to witness this conversation so we can all understand the new team dynamic afterward. If it happens in private, we'll all spend weeks trying to figure out what changed and why everyone's acting different."
"That's surprisingly mature reasoning," Conner observed.
"We're surprisingly mature people," Jessica replied with a grin. "We just hide it really well behind teenager behavior and cosmic-level anxiety."
The conversation was interrupted by the sound of Donna's boots hitting the stone floor with the kind of deliberate, measured pace that suggested someone who had made a decision and was prepared to see it through to its conclusion regardless of the consequences. She walked across the chamber toward the kitchen area with the fluid grace of a trained warrior and the focused determination of someone who had finally run out of patience for diplomatic solutions.
"Oh," Wally breathed, his eyes wide with anticipation. "Oh, this is happening. This is actually happening right now."
"One minute," M'gann whispered, though her telepathic abilities suggested the timeline might be even shorter than that.
"Everyone ready?" Dick asked quietly, settling into his observation position with the focused attention of someone who appreciated high-quality drama when it presented itself.
"Ready for what?" Conner asked, still not entirely sure what they were supposed to be ready for.
"Ready to find out whether we're about to witness a mature, diplomatic discussion about emotional boundaries and romantic feelings," Jessica replied, "or whether we're about to learn why Amazon warrior training includes advanced courses in intimidation techniques and assertive communication."
"My money's on the intimidation techniques," Zatanna said cheerfully.
"Definitely the intimidation techniques," Kara agreed.
As Donna approached the kitchen area where Hadrian and Koriand'r were still engaged in their cultural exchange session, completely oblivious to the approaching storm, the rest of the team settled into their observation positions with the kind of focused attention usually reserved for studying enemy battle tactics or analyzing complex scientific data.
"You know," Neville said quietly, his dry humor cutting through the tension, "when I imagined how we'd spend our last few hours before an alien invasion, this wasn't exactly what I pictured."
"What did you picture?" Roslyn asked curiously.
"Weapons maintenance. Strategy sessions. Maybe some quiet contemplation of mortality and the meaning of heroism," Neville replied. "Not running a betting pool on when our teammate would snap and demand emotional honesty from our other teammate about his feelings for the alien princess we're supposed to be protecting."
"This is so much better than weapons maintenance," Wally said with conviction.
"So much better," Dick agreed.
"Thirty seconds," M'gann announced, her voice barely above a whisper as Donna closed the final distance toward what was about to become the most interesting conversation Mount Justice had seen in weeks.
And in the kitchen area, completely unaware that they were about to become the center of everyone's attention, Hadrian continued explaining the cultural significance of peanut butter to someone whose world had been destroyed by her own sister, while Koriand'r listened with the kind of focused attention that suggested she found everything about him absolutely fascinating.
The storm was about to break, and for the first time in three days, nobody was thinking about alien invasion fleets or cosmic-level threats or the possibility that their world might not survive the next twenty-four hours.
Sometimes, the most immediate drama was exactly the distraction everyone needed to remember that they were still human, still teenagers, still people who fell in love and got jealous and made mistakes and tried to figure out how to be heroes while dealing with the fact that their personal lives were just as complicated as their professional ones.
"Ten seconds," M'gann whispered.
"Here we go," Dick said with satisfaction.
And Donna cleared her throat.
---
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