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Have You Come To Meet Your Match (Chapter 10)
🕑 Added 2024-10-25 20:59:47 +0000 UTCDinah Lance figured the Watchtower had begun to feel more like a tomb than a sanctuary to these kids. The sterile metallic walls, the cold hum of machinery, the clinical decor—all of it seemed to press in on them now. Whatever novelty there was in being stationed aboard an orbiting spaceship had worn off.
That would explain why they’d finally come forward, insisting they’d had enough bed rest. They were ready to talk. Or at least they thought they were.
Now here she was sat in a room that she had tried to make as welcoming as possible with its wooden table and soft couches. Still the fluorescent lights overhead casting harsh, unnatural shadows that swallowed the walls in their sterile glow. Beyond the viewport, stars twinkled against the endless black, distant and indifferent to the weight that hung in the air here.
The team that had returned from Cadmus wasn’t the same as the one that had gone in. They wore the scars—mental and physical—etched into them by what had been done to them in that place. The things they'd seen, the things they'd done. And as the only member of the League with any real qualifications for this, it was her job to help them piece themselves back together.
Their therapist. Whether they wanted it or not.
And so she watched as Kaldur’ahm stepped in, taking his seat across from her. His posture was stiff, hands resting neatly on his knees. He looked more like a soldier preparing for a debrief than a young man ready for therapy. His eyes, though calm, betrayed a heaviness—layers of something that hadn’t yet surfaced.
She offered him a small, reassuring smile, knowing that cracking his shell would take time. He was military, despite his age. Built for resilience, trained for war. Letting his guard down wasn’t something that came naturally.
"Thank you for coming in," she said, her tone soft and casual, aiming to chip away at the formality in the air.
Kaldur inclined his head, the formality in his every movement making the distance between them feel palpable. "Of course, My king requested I do so."
Dinah made a note of his words. Noting the shield he hid behind. Duty. "This is not a debrief, Kaldur. You’re not here out of duty to anyone else. This is about you and what happened that day."
For a moment, his eyes flickered—something shifted, just beneath the surface. But he reined it back in, as he always did. “I do not wish to waste your time. I am well. The others—”
She cut him off gently. "This isn’t about the others. Not right now." Her voice softened further, trying to draw him in.
His eyes drifted toward the viewport, his gaze tracing the stars as though seeking something from them. He stayed silent long enough that Dinah might have thought he'd shut down completely. But she knew better than to rush him. He wasn’t resisting—he was measuring his words, curating his thoughts. Always the soldier, even now.
"I must confess," he said quietly, his voice steady but distant, "I do not know if I am...suited to this."
"To talking about it?"
Kaldur nodded, his expression neutral. "In Atlantis, we do not dwell on what has passed. We honor our duties. We protect the realm. Reflection is a luxury, one that warriors cannot afford."
Dinah leaned forward slightly, keeping her voice low, gentle. "You're not in Atlantis anymore, Kaldur. And right now, you're not just a warrior. You're someone who experienced something traumatic. You don’t have to carry it alone."
He looked at her then, a slight narrowing of his eyes. Not in anger, but in contemplation. "I was taught that pain is a part of life. We accept it. We move forward."
"But that doesn't mean it doesn't affect you." Dinah softened her tone. "It’s not a weakness to feel pain, or to need time to process it. You don’t have to always be the one protecting others."
Kaldur's jaw tightened. He shifted in his seat, his discomfort evident, but he didn’t push back. That was something. Progress, even.
"Tell me about Cadmus," Dinah starting as gently as she could. "What happened? How it felt, from your perspective."
Dinah watched as Kaldur’s posture shifted subtly, the tension in his shoulders barely easing as he prepared to answer her question. She knew better than to rush him. His silence wasn’t reluctance—he was processing. Deciding how to present something so horrific with the careful, precise control he demanded of himself.
“We were prepared for conflict,” Kaldur repeated, his voice even and measured, though his words carried a weight that hadn't been there before. “But the scale of it—what we encountered was beyond anything we could have anticipated.”
He paused again, and Dinah let the silence linger between them, giving him space. It was obvious that this was new territory for him—he wasn’t accustomed to recounting his experiences beyond a report. There was no structure here, no military order to fall back on.
“The Genomorphs... they were more than we anticipated. Hordes of them. Like a never ending flood of teeth and raw animality."
“Then there was the monster we faced ," Kaldur continued, his voice dropping lower, colder. "Robin says he was the lead scientist of Cadmus. That he had transformed himself into…that monster.“
His fingers twitched, the first real movement he’d made since he sat down. He was still staring at the stars, as if they gave him the very answers he was speaking. “Injured and tired, we fought him... like we were trained to do. With teamwork, with strategy." His voice faltered. "But nothing worked. Nothing stopped him. He tossed us aside like we were nothing. Like toys. I tried to hold the line. But..."
His voice wavered slightly, the crack in his armor deepening. Dinah watched closely, noticing the subtle way his gills flexed faster. He was still composed, still the disciplined warrior, but the cracks were showing. The control he clung to was fraying, and she knew better than to press too hard.
"You held the line," she said, her voice steady, reminding him of his strength. "You're here, Kaldur. You’re still standing."
He didn’t respond immediately, his jaw clenched tight, the silence between them filled with the hum of the Watchtower’s machinery. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet. "We almost died down there. Desmond... he would have killed us all if it weren’t for Match."
His words were clipped, each one precise, as if speaking them came at a cost. "I understand the League might take issue with how Match handled things. But I would argue... his actions were necessary."
It wasn’t exactly the kind of breakthrough she had hoped for. He wasn’t justifying a difficult decision—he was defending the act of taking a life. Rationalizing it which was not exactly what she had in mind. That was the part that worried her.
But still, Dinah noted the shift. He was opening up, however guarded his words still felt. It was a small crack in the armor, a step forward. He wasn’t just reporting; he was engaging with what had happened, with his own conflicted feelings about it.
Not exactly positive. But still it was progress.
She’d read the reports, knew the outline of what had happened. But now, hearing it from Kaldur, it felt more real. It wasn’t just a session now; this was his experience.
“I have a question.”
He was taking initiative! That was good.
“How did the League never find out? About Cadmus? Especially In the heart of Washington.” His voice had lost its lost tune, hardening.
Dinah paused, catching the subtle shift in Kaldur’s tone. His voice, once steady and controlled, now carried the weight of something darker, something that had been simmering beneath the surface. She could feel the tension tightening between them, thickening the air in the sterile room.
How did the League never find out? It was a fair question, one she had asked herself more than once. Cadmus had operated right under their noses, buried deep in the heart of Washington, hidden in plain sight. And yet, the League—the world’s greatest heroes—had been blind to it.
But Kaldur's real question wasn’t about the League, and she knew that. He was too smart, too thoughtful to let the real issue hang in the air without being acknowledged.
“Superman,” she said softly, meeting his eyes, her voice calm, but steady. “You’re wondering how come he didn’t know.”
The silence that followed was heavy, Kaldur’s gaze hardening slightly as if he had been waiting for her to say it.
“I cannot speak for him,” Dinah continued carefully. “But I can tell you this—no one expected what was happening at Cadmus. Not the League, not Superman. No one was prepared for what they were really doing there.”
Underneath the question, she could sense the simmering frustration. Maybe even a touch of betrayal. It was always hard when the people you believed in, the ones who were supposed to protect you, failed to see what was right in front of them.
Dinah met his eyes, holding his gaze for a moment before responding. "We missed it," she admitted softly. No excuses, no deflection. It wasn’t what he needed, and honestly, it wasn’t what she needed either. "We missed it, Kaldur, and that’s on us."
He blinked at that—his brow knitting slightly, the tension pulling his expression taut. He hadn’t expected that. A crack in the invulnerable armor of the League. But the reality of it was as clear as the stars outside the viewport.
Dinah leaned forward, elbows resting lightly on the table, hands clasped, her voice quiet but firm. She presented a remorseful image well. "We try to see everything, to protect everything. But sometimes things slip through the cracks. Sometimes we miss the monsters hiding in plain sight."
The silence that followed Dinah’s admission was thick, weighted with the truths that hung between them.
Dinah knew better than to interrupt the quiet. Sometimes silence said more than words could, and this was one of those moments. Now he had begun to open up to her, she had began making sense of the
storm she could now clearly see brewing beneath his calm exterior, the heaviness he carried, the questions he was asking himself—the guilt, the self-reproach, the thoughts that had likely kept him awake in the nights since Cadmus.
When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter than before. “I should have—" His throat bobbed as he swallowed. "If I had argued harder, if I had insisted we stay, maybe then—maybe Wally would—"
“Kaldur,” Dinah interrupted gently, her voice firm but soft. She reached across the table, resting her hand on his, grounding him. “You can’t carry that guilt. It is not fair to yourself.”
Another long silence. His jaw clenched, his breathing slow and measured, like he was forcing himself to stay composed. “I know this logically. But the heart is...less rational.”
“Despite all attempts, you and your friends are safe.” She countered.
“I know…I know,” he replied, shaking his head slightly as if to shake off the weight of his thoughts. “However I cannot help but feel…that day didn’t end in a victory.”
Dinah leaned in, “Answer this for me then. You and your friends uncovered an illegal gene modification facility, broke in, discovered clones of Superman and rescued them. You escaped successfully with your friends, unveiling an army hidden beneath the heart of DC. You earned the official recognition of the American government and in so doing, gained the gratitude of the President. If that doesn’t feel like a victory, then what does?”
The question hung in the air, forcing Kaldur to confront the depths of his emotions. It was clear he was grappling with it, his brow furrowing as he considered her words.
“…I do not know.”
____________________________________
“Wally, you can come in now.”
The door slid open with a soft hiss, and Barry’s protege stepped in, breaking more than a few Watchtower protocols with his outfit—a pair of denim pants and an old orange hoodie. But after what went down, no one cared much about dress code. It was about making them feel comfortable, anything to get them talking.
He moved like he was walking into a courtroom, shoulders hunched, eyes darting, like he was looking for an escape route that wasn’t there. He wasn’t the cocky kid everyone was used to, the one who usually couldn’t sit still for more than two seconds. No, this was someone else. Someone weighed down by things too heavy to run from.
“Hey,” Dinah greeted him, voice steady, even though she knew this conversation wouldn’t be easy.
“Hey,” he mumbled, eyes still glued to the floor. That was the first red flag. Wally had always been a teenage boy through and through—his eyes always had a tendency to wander. But today? Not even a glance. She inhaled deeply, a movement she knew bounced her cleavage, just to test him, but nothing. He didn’t even blink.
He slumped into the chair, the silence between them thick like smog.
Dinah hit record, the click loud in the tension that filled the room. “We’re going to talk about what happened. You know that, right?”
“Do we have to?” he muttered, glancing down at his hands, which were fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. A nervous habit.
“We do,” Dinah said, firm but not unkind. “You can’t outrun this, Wally.”
His sigh came out more like a groan. “I know, but I don’t want to. Not right now.”
“You experienced things out there—things that would mess anyone up. It’s okay to feel hurt. You don’t have to pretend you’re fine. Your friends are…worried.”
He didn’t say anything for a beat, but she could see his jaw clench, his fists tighten just a little.
“Tell me, what happened?” she coaxed, gently.
He exhaled hard, leaning back in the chair. “You’re asking like you don’t already know.”
Dinah kept her tone steady, her eyes calm as she responded, “I’d prefer to hear it from your mouth, Wally. It’s important that you say it.”
He huffed, his hands gripping the arms of the chair. “Yeah, well, it’s not exactly easy to talk about, okay?”
“I know,” Dinah acknowledged. “But holding it in isn’t going to help. We don’t need you to relive every detail, just... tell me how it felt. In your own words.”
“Well… It felt awful. I was off my game. Big time. Fumbling around like a rookie.” Wally paused, taking a deep breath before continuing, his voice quieter now. “Till I got captured by those things.”
Dinah’s eyes shot up sharply, catching that word. “...Things?”
Wally nodded, his jaw tightening as he looked down at his hands again. “Genomorphs… Gnomes, I think they’re called.”
Dinah leaned forward slightly, her brow furrowing. She had heard rumors, of course, but hearing it from Wally brought a new weight to it. She kept her voice steady, trying not to press too hard, “I understand you got rescued by the Kryptonian… Match.”
“Yeah… Match,” Wally muttered, the name hanging in the air like a heavy cloud.
“Do you mind if we talk about him?” Dinah asked carefully. “From what I understand, the team’s strategy to escape hinged in a large part on him.”
Wally’s eyes flicked up for the first time since he entered the room, a flash of something behind them—maybe frustration. He sat back in the chair, rubbing a hand over his face.
“Sure, we can talk about him. I’ve never told anyone this before,” he began, his voice low and uneven, like the words were fighting their way out of him. “But… in enhanced perception… everything slows down. It’s like, there’s this silence. The world is just… behind you.”
Dinah stayed still, not wanting to interrupt as he opened up.
“Even a handshake feels like you’re waiting forever,” he continued, his eyes distant, like he was somewhere far away. “For the person to move, for them to actually clasp your hand. Everything is... waiting.” His voice trailed off, a haunted look passing over his face. “And you have no idea how shocking it was for that silence to be filled.”
Dinah leaned in, listening intently. “Filled with what?”
His voice dropped to a whisper, as if the memory itself was something he could barely speak aloud. “A low… keening sound. At first, I didn’t know what it was. It had to be have been super loud and continuous for me to hear it, when I was going that. That’s when I saw him. Match.”
Dinah’s breath caught, intrigued by what he was sharing. “What was he doing, Wally?”
His eyes flicked to hers, hollow, and his voice was almost detached, like he was recounting someone else’s nightmare. “His hands… they were pressing down. Into the skulls of those things. Those gnomes. Pressing until they… burst.” He swallowed hard, his body tensing as he spoke. “Until their brains… leaked out from their ears.”
Dinah felt the weight of his words settle heavily in the air, the room suddenly colder. But Wally wasn’t done.
“And then I realized,” he continued, his voice barely more than a breath, “that that sound… that keening noise… it wasn’t just noise. It was their screams, Dinah. Their screams as they died. One by one.”
She held herself still, giving him space to breathe, to settle. It was a method she’d learned over years of working with trauma, waiting until the silence became uncomfortable enough to force something more honest.
“And how did that make you feel? Scared perhaps?” She finally asked.
“Scared?” He almost scoffed, sounding baffled at what she had dared to suggest.
“I’m grateful to Match. Not scared. If it wasn’t for him, for what he did... We’d never have escaped.”
The words settled uneasily in Dinah’s gut. The fear, the hesitation from before, was nowhere to be found. Instead, there was something more unsettling—gratitude.
A very disturbing dichotomy to the emotions he was displaying a minute ago.
It was like something inside him had latched onto Match, something far deeper than relief. She didn’t show it, but that knot of worry twisted harder inside her.
Her eyes flicked upward, just for a second, toward the corner of the room. A brief glance, still it would be enough to signal the observer. The one who’d been watching everything unfold.
“I have your medical report here,” Dinah continued, watching closely as Wally’s eye twitched. A subtle reaction, but enough to tell her she’d touched a nerve. A sore spot, then.
She glanced down at the medical report in her hands, her tone even as she read off the list. “A concussion, fractured ribs, a sprained ankle, and several severe bruises.”
She looked up, meeting his eyes again. “That’s quite a lot, Wally,” she said gently. “It’s understandable if you ne-“
A soft knock interrupted her.
“Enter,” Dinah called, standing to greet the person stepping through.
The door slid open, and she gestured toward Wally, introducing-“J’onn, this is Wally West. Wally, I’d like to introduce you to—”
“Martian Manhunter,” Wally cut in, his voice quiet, eyes widening as the tall figure came into view.
“Greetings, Wally,” came the rich, deep voice of J’onn J’onzz. The Martian moved into the room, his presence commanding but calm, his green skin gleaming in the light. His red eyes, glowing softly. He was dressed in his signature dark-blue suit, the red “X” across his chest as prominent as ever, and his long, sweeping cape trailed behind him as though he were weightless.
She measured her tone as she informed Wally, making sure to keep it soothing and calm as was required in these situations.
“He’ll be doing some precursory mental checks on you, Wally. Just to make sure you’re okay from everything that’s happened. It shouldn’t take more tha-
____________________________________
“Hey Dick,” she said gently, her voice steady as she pushed a few strands of hair behind her ear. “Thank you for coming.”
He shrugged, his usual sharp tongue mouth still evident as he replied. “I mean, you said we had to, right?”
Dinah allowed a small smile to break through. “I’m glad you decided to come, either way. Please have a seat. I think it’s important for us to talk about what happened.”
He crossed his arms over his chest, as if trying to shield himself from the very words she was asking him to say. He was clad in civilian clothes like his friends. A black jumpsuit in his case with shades.
“I don’t know if talking is going to help, Dinah. We got in, did what the Justice League couldn’t, completed the assignment. You know…as heroes…not sidekicks…heroes.”
“You are upset.”
“Damn right I’m upset. The league’s negligence almost got the team killed. Cadmus should never been allowed to exist that long. Wally hasn’t been the same since that day and everything’s……different.”
“Wally?” Dinah tilted her head, watching him with careful eyes. “Is that really what you’ve upset about, Dick?”
His fists tightened again. “Yes. No. I don’t know. Dinah, I just told yo—”
“Who are you really angry at, Dick?” she pushed, her voice calm but relentless. “Who are you angry at?”
She knew Dick. She could see the cracks beneath the anger. She was digging, and Dick was holding his ground, the way he always did. By deflecting.
“I just told you—” His voice flaring.
“No,” she said, firmer now, her voice cutting through his deflection. “Who are you really angry at, Dick?
“I’m angry at myself!” The words burst from him, sharp and jagged, the tremor in his voice betraying the calm façade he’d tried to maintain. His fists gripped the edge of the chair so tightly his knuckles whitened, his chest rising and falling with the force of his anger. “I’m angry at myself,” he repeated, quieter this time, but no less forceful.
Dinah didn’t flinch. She let him have the space to feel it, to sit in the emotion, because she knew—he knew—that there was no escaping it now.
“For trusting Bruce” Dick continued, voice raw, each word feeling like it had been torn from somewhere deep. “For thinking I had his trust. Thinking that he’d keep me in the know. That day was supposed to be a step towards joining the league. Towards being a part of something bigger.” He paused, voice tight. “Come to find out that everything I knew was a lie. They didn’t think we were ready. He didn’t think I was ready. My friends and I… almost died because we wanted to prove something to ourselves. To prove that we were more than sidekicks…that we are heroes.”
His voice wavered as he spoke, the bitterness palpable. He turned his head slightly, eyes distant, as though he were replaying every agonizing second of that day, each moment replaying with the clarity that only regret can bring.
“I don’t know why I expected anything different,” Dick muttered, a bitter laugh slipping through clenched teeth. “I know the kind of man Bruce is. I’ve known for years. Hell, you know him, Dinah. I just—” His voice broke, softening to a whisper. “I just don’t know why I expected different.”
“And what kind of man is he, Dick?
Dick’s jaw tightened, and his eyes were hard, empty. “He’s a selfish, unfeeling machine. He’s so consumed by ‘the mission’ that he doesn’t care about anyone.”
For a moment, Dinah saw the boy underneath it all. The one who still, despite everything, wanted to be seen. By the one person he idolized.
“He made me believe that being his partner meant something, that I mattered. But it was just a lie. Just like everything else. And I was stupid enough to fall for it.”
“At this rate, he’ll never think I’m ready to b-
“To be batman?” Dinah said cut in, getting straight to the heart of the issue.
“…….Yes.”
“I think this is a conversation you should be having with Bruce”
A shadow of a smile touched Dick’s face, bitter and worn. “Well, as we say back in Gotham, if you’re waiting on a miracle, better keep one eye open.”
____________________________________
Dinah pressed her fingers against the bridge of her nose, the familiar weight of exhaustion settling deep in her bones. Therapy sessions were more draining than any battle she'd fought, not because of the physical toll, but the mental strain of navigating through tangled emotions, simmering resentment, and unresolved grief. She was just beginning to contemplate a break when the door hissed open.
Superboy clad in a black top and combat pants stormed in like a living embodiment of fury. His hand struck the table with brutal force, splintering it as though it were nothing more than paper. The wood groaned, then collapsed under his weight as his voice, dark and dangerous, filled the room.
"Where is my brother??!!!"
