Saturday, 8:45 Am, Location Unknown...

"First up, Harleen Francis Quinzel." A picture of a beautiful blonde femme fatale with glasses and blue eyes slides onto the screen. The psychiatrist, Steve remembered, the basket case beauty that had set Waller and the whole agency amok a couple of years ago. "Miss Quinzel possessed a genius-level IQ and attended Gotham State University on a scholarship for gymnastics, where she majored in Psychiatry under Dr. Odin Markus. She had a boyfriend named Guy Kopski who she soon drove insane along with herself along in the process. She killed the Doctor and her boyfriend killed a homeless man he thought was the Doctor. Turns out, what we found out later, that an experiment Mr. Kopski had been working on and testing himself called the 'Think Drink' had been corrupted with Joker Venom by the Doctor. In the end, he begged Miss Quinzel to kill him. It's a mystery as to whether or not she did. Feeling inspired by everything that happened and the results of Joker's Venom, Miss Quinzel applied for a job at Arkham Asylum where she met him…"

"The Joker…" Steve produced, watching as the image of the notorious green haired clown slid next to the one of the blonde. Steve was very well familiar with the criminal. He had shook the underbelly of Gotham, allowing the wealthy and politicians to fall through the cracks while the thieves and murderers and the like rose from it. The Clown had turned everyone and everything around. Unlike many criminals in Gotham, the Joker, was smart, calculating, manipulative, but also a pure genius. He had infiltrated the law enforcements, cut off access from outside cities, and managed to send the Batman into a frustration that scared the lesser evils.

"As soon as she was accepted by Dr. Arkham, she requested to meet the Joker. Based on the claim that she was doing research for a book on serial killers, she was given complete access to the Clown-Prince of Crime. In their first session together, she introduced herself as Dr. Harleen Quinzel, but he stressed that he would rather refer to her as Harley Quinn, like the medieval jester Harlequin. The pair shared an affair, with Quinn helping Joker escape from Arkham several times before she herself was finally caught. Her medical license was revoked and she was committed, despite her claims that all of the releases were meant to be… therapeutic."

"Wait, wait…" Steve interrupted, holding out a hand in the air to signal for a pause. "...didn't Batman kill the Joker?"

Waller's lips pursed and her arms crossed over her chest, her brown eyes gleamed meeting the soldier's head on in agitation. "That's what the Batman recounts… Thing is, though, is the fact that we could never find the body."

Steve nodded, slowly, head twisting in possibilities, wondering, hoping the clown that once haunted the streets of Gotham is not out there walking them now.

"Leaving that daunting thought where it is, next up, is George Harkness." Steve winces as an image of man, looking equally insane and missing one or two teeth, replaces the image of Harley Quinn and the Joker. "Though he likes to make up fake stories about his origin, the truth is, from an early age, George "Digger" Harkness taught himself how to carve and throw boomerangs extremely well, having known his absentee father was especially proficient with them. Harkness believed that, if he could become better with boomerangs, it would somehow impress his father if they were to ever meet again. When he was older, Harkness moved to Central City in the United States, determined to become a master thief with his boomerangs, and became the costume criminal "Captain Boomerang". However, his plan went awry when he was contested by the vigilante speedster the Flash, who constantly put Harkness behind bars. Harkness allied himself with the Flash's Rogues gallery, but, still, even their combined efforts were no match for the Flash."

The image faded and was replaced by a man with an eye patch.

"Floyd Lawton, aka Deadshot, grew up as a member of the idle rich. His father, George Lawton, made money in real estate, and his mother Genevieve Pitt belonged to a family of wealthy bankers. His brother Edward Lawton was a golden child, described as the opposite of Floyd. Both parents doted on Edward while treating Floyd poorly, but Floyd still grew up idolizing his older brother. George was unfaithful and cruel to Genevieve, so she asked her sons to kill their father. Eddie locked Floyd in the boathouse when Floyd tried to warn his father. Floyd broke out and grabbed his hunting rifle. Eddie had already shot their father in the second floor library, paralyzing George for life, and was preparing to kill him. Floyd climbed a tree and aimed to disarm his brother, but a branch snapped and he shot Eddie between the eyes. He killed the brother he loved to save the father he hated. This incident was covered up to avoid dishonoring the family name. George denied Genevieve a divorce, and forced her to live alone on a small stipend. Some time after that, Lawton sought the training of the professional assassin David Cain, who instructed Lawton and taught him his marksmanship abilities."

"That's actually…" Steve breathed out, reading over the description next to Lawton's profile. The tale of Lawton was disturbing within itself, the moral and compassionate side to Steve's heart went out to him. Lawton's drastic actions were that of basic human emotion. "Pretty tragic, really."

"Now, now, Colonel, are you sympathizing?" Waller chastises.

Steve throws her a slightly annoyed gaze, jaw working in irritation, her attempt to demean him not lost on him. With a controlled voice, he answered, "No, course not but still… I can understand now why he did what he did. This is a true motive for the type of hatred and anger Lawton has."

Steve wasn't going to pretend he didn't notice the way Waller looked down at him. Riding her high horse to kick at her inferiors and keep the treading around her like fucking beggars. It wasn't just anger that settled in him but a sort of respectful hate. If he was successful in this mission, Waller would see him moved up in the ranks along with the General. And if he did move up, he wouldn't have to put up with half the shit he did already. He could move to station in Europe with Diana, no more having to struggle with skyping or having her fly over. They could actually have a future, possibly.

Waller snorted, eyes moving from the soldier back to the screen, her nose scrunched up in slight as if in disgust. "Perhaps when you look at it from that perspective…"

Disgust, he realized, with the criminals she holds captured.

"Continuing on we have, Waylon Jones, aka Killer Croc… Waylon Jones was born in a slum in Tampa, Florida. He was born with a medical condition that caused him to grow progressively more like a crocodile, hence his name. His mother died in childbirth, and his father abandoned him. Waylon was raised by his aunt, but her persistent drinking prevented him from growing up in an ideal household. As a teenager, Croc had no friends, and was the object of ridicule of those who knew him. By the time he reached adulthood, Waylon found work wrestling alligators as part of sideshow carnivals, where he earned the name "Killer Croc". Croc soon realized that there was more money to be made in crime, so he set out to become Gotham's most powerful underground figure. His criminal activities made him a target of Gotham's vigilante Batman. Croc's rise to the top of Gotham's underworld didn't go unnoticed and he made quick enemies of already established criminals. Croc was soon approached by Joker, who arranged a plan for Croc to eliminate Batman, but the madman's plan would also involve a double-cross, where Croc would be eliminated as well. Joker's plan failed and in the last confrontation with Batman, Croc was defeated and his reign of terror was over. Some time later, Ra's al Ghul engineered a massive breakout of Arkham Asylum, freeing all of the patients, including Killer Croc. In exchange for their freedom, the prisoners agreed to help Ra's with a scheme to confound the Batman. Croc's role in the plan was to break into Wayne Manor and abduct Bruce Wayne's butler Alfred Pennyworth. Croc had no idea what connection Pennyworth had to Batman, but he executed the deed without question, and brought Alfred back to Poison Ivy's Exotica Emporium where four other hostages were being held. Batman soon arrived to rescue the hostages and fought with Croc once again. As time was of the essence, Batman wasted little of it fighting Croc, and quickly subdued him. Afterwards, Killer Croc was returned to Arkham Asylum. Like many do, Croc eventually escaped from Arkham and began running criminal operations again. After robbing a shopping store, Croc discovered a secret stairwell that led into an old unfinished subterranean highway. The tunnel had since become a shelter for many of Gotham's homeless. Croc became friends with the homeless people and attempted to make a new life for himself. Croc's newfound lifestyle was short-lived however. Batman investigated the store robbery, and the trail led him right to Killer Croc's shelter. The two began fighting one another, but at midnight, the city flushed the tunnels with water from the river, and Croc was washed away. His friends believed that he had died in the flood."

Steve moves a sweaty palm down the leg of his pants. "According to you though, he's alive, is he not?"

"Very much so." Waller answered, indifferently, as if a gigantic humanoid lizard seemingly immortal was something that occurred every day.

"It seems to me that those Batman kills does not remain dead for long."

"Ha," Waller barks out a laugh that startles Steve. "I've been saying that for years."

"Here we have, Tatsu Yamashiro, alias Katana. Unlike the rest of them, she's not a criminal but someone I've recommended to help and aid you with your handling of the team… Anyway, Miss Yamashiro was an average Japanese girl. Two brothers, Maseo and Takeo Yamashiro, both claimed their love for her. While she liked both, she chose Maseo. That of course, pissed off the other brother, Takeo, who refused to attend the couple's wedding. He had joined the Yakuza, as a result. After the deaths of Miss Yamashiro's parents, she and Maseo started a family of their own, and she gave birth to twins, Yuki and Reiko. Meanwhile, Takeo rose in rank of the Yakuza, and one of his exotic tastes included ancient weapons. He was presented with a pair of matched swords by General Karnz, one of which Takeo favored due to its mystical properties, which would come to be known as the Soultaker Sword. One night, soon after, Takeo took both swords to the Yamashiro's house to kill his brother with the sword. He killed his brother and Miss Yamashiro's family died in a fire. However, she did manage to claim the Soultaker Sword in the process. With Soultaker in her possession, Tatsu began training as a samurai under a master called Tadashi. After much time she graduated from his tutorship and left for America where she intended to use her talents to fight for justice. She took the codename Katana after the sword that she wielded."

Steve swallowed. "Where is she now, if not in Belle Reve?"

Waller tossed a file down on the small coffee table next to him. "We trusted her enough to allow her freedom to roam about. She won't go far."

With a shaking finger, he peeled the file open, peeking through it's contents to find a list of all of Katana's missions and past assignments. "And she agreed to this?"

"We offered and she made a vow to fight for justice." Waller stated, with a nonchalant shrug reaching into her breast pocket for a pack of cigarettes. "I didn't ask for details when she said yes."

"Looking at this track record, I can understand why…"

Waller pulled a cigarette into her mouth before offering him the pack. He stared at it for a brief moment, hesitating at first before pulling one himself. It had been a while since he had one of these. Ever since he started dating Diana, he had quit. Now, looking at the images of a massive lizard, an insane ex-psychiatrist, a sword wielding female with a vengeance, and marksman with more kills than the snipers he knew, he needed a drag. As if reading his mind, a lighter produced itself in front of his cigarette. The shaking from earlier grew firm after the first drag.

"You're catching on, Colonel Trevor…" She said with a smile that almost seemed genuine if not for the condescending tilt of her brow. "Next up we have Chato Santana, or as most of his victims know him, El Diablo. In all simplicity, the bastard is possessed by a demon. Not really much to it. He was a criminal, a drug dealer but unlike all of them, he had morals, and when he accidentally killed a building filled with women and children, he turned himself in."

He managed out with the cigarette dangling between his lips and files sitting in his lap. "Surprisingly, not all of these criminals sound dangerous… Just broken."

Waller tutted, flicking the loose ashes of her cigarette in the ashtray. Steve had to admit, there was something comforting about smoking in a dark room with a projection screen in front of him. Like the good old days.

"Always two sides to the same coin, Colonel."

Steve sighed but nodded and motioned towards an abandoned file next to him. "What about these two…? Rick Flag and June Moone?"

"Ah, those two. We'll only pull her out if it's a dire emergency and your team has been eliminated. General Lane has stressed ultimate discretion in this matter and Miss Moone doesn't exactly scream subtle. As for the man, he's her handler, fell in love with her, he did, and she, him. Flag can tame the beast within her, bring out the human, if you know what I mean…" Waller sighed out a breath of smoke and he watches absently as it fades into the air of the room.

"She's some sort of monster?"

"No, like El Diablo here, she's possessed by some evil spirit, but unlike the him, she can't control the darkness that possesses her."

Steve swallowed down the taste of nicotine. "Will I be meeting her as well?"

Waller laughs. "Only if you want to."

"This is…" Steve removes the cigarette from between his lips and breathes out a sigh, smoke emitting from his nostrils. "Quite a lot."

"Look, Trevor, you mind if I call you Trevor? No, you know what, nevermind, I don't care. Lane picked you specifically for this job for a reason and I obviously wouldn't be telling you all this if he didn't trust you to be capable of handling this. If you want to chicken out, go ahead, I can find someone else just as easily as I found you. You know how many men out there would kill to be in your position? Tens and thousands who would work harder, train harder, and fight harder. So… Trevor, you can either sack up and we can kick this in the ass. I don't have time for bullshit. Are we clear?"

The heavenly image of Diana's face appeared behind his eyes. A future. A life with her and suddenly his decision was clear.

"Crystal."

. . . . .

Meanwhile in Gotham, Wayne Manor…

She watches as the two exit the elevator, crystal tumblers in each of their hands. Bruce is smiling, something both genuine and foreign and Clark, still possesses the lost look in his eyes but a humorous beam masks him, no less real than Bruce's. He mutters something underneath his breath that only allows Bruce to hear and the man is tossing his head back, the smile loses its place only to be replaced with bright laughter. He shakes his head as the laughter begins to taper off and the two make their way towards the center of the Cave, where the cave's holonet table lies. The two separate, Bruce leaving Clark to go talk to Alfred who seemed to be holding a very interesting and humorous conversation with Arthur about the city of Atlantis. Tearing her eyes from the two men idly waiting for their counterparts, she looks towards the alien and does a quick sweep of his stature. His shoulders are hunched over again much to her disappointment. His unruly coal-mine hair is windswept; wild. She sighs, she may need to cut it again soon even if he won't like it. Moving down, she notices that hideous beard. No matter how many times she cuts it, it grows back faster and within the week. It irks her and damn near drives her mad. A little pride in appearance wouldn't hurt you, Kal-El, she remembers telling him when he first started rocking the careless look.

Absently, she runs a hand through her hair and sighs, realizing finally, that she was taking out her frustration on his appearance rather than the fact that he wouldn't even look at her. She shouldn't have said those things to him. It had been cruel really; and not even at all to do with him. Laying out all of his flaws and imperfections, before him and stating specifically why someone he actually cared for wouldn't want him, why he could never be what she wanted him to be, hell she practically shouted it at him all the while and then some. He has enough on his plate and here she is, bringing him down. Ripping into him when he's already on his knees, struggling to grasp onto anything solid. Anything real. Genuine. It was always a rarity to see Clark interested in something other than Martha and caring for the farm. And to see him so caught up and emotionally drained from one meeting with an Amazon, of all people, set something off in her, something she obviously, by the looks of him, couldn't contain. He found something, someone. And she's already torn it to pieces. She can blame it on her hatred for the Amazons but she knows that it isn't the case. No, she smiles bitterly, mournfully, and picks at the cotton of her pants, she knows that it is not the case.

Bruce finishes his conversation with Alfred and signals for the rest of the group to join him. Arthur grunts and moves to sit on the railing, looking over the edge in the slightest to see what lies beneath. A lake. He looks up and watches as the water's origin pelt down from overhead, an opening farther into the cave like that of a giant mouth. Before he can ask Bruce about it, the man is shoving a tumbler in his hand. Arthur silently thanks the man. It's a smaller amount than he's used to and he stares at it with his head tilted, knowing it won't be enough to quench his thirst. Mera gets up from her seat at the main computer and takes her time to join the men. Mera watches her husband with slight amusement before grabbing his glass. Clark hands her another but quickly turns away, narrowly avoiding her gaze. She sighs and pours her glass' contents into Arthur's, suddenly not feeling very thirsty at all.

Mera's face lifts in the slightest when she sees the elation and satisfaction brought back into her husband's eyes.

Bruce doesn't waste a moment before starting. He moves to the head of the table; Alfred hovers behind him in the back, hands linked behind him. The billionaire hunches over the table, one hand splayed out while the other makes holograms and videos appear out of thin air. He gestures towards one specific hologram before saying, "I've called you here today to discuss-"

"No pleasantries?" Mera hastily interrupts, arms folding over to settle on her chest. His steely gaze slides over to her in annoyed demure.

Arthur tilts his head and glances at him in turn, as well, before nodding once. "Darling, I think he believes this is one of his board meetings."

She scoffs, a hint of amusement hidden in her grin. "Wouldn't be surprised. Heartless bastard."

Bruce levels the two with a glare. "You mind?"

"No, please continue, Mr. Wayne," Mera comments under her breath.

Ignoring them, he continues on, "There has been a development... in relation to the Zod issue."

At this, Arthur stiffens, his earlier amusement quickly vanishing. He glances at Clark for confirmation, his brows furrowed in confusion and agitation. His brother nods once in response, the slightest bit of tension working its way into his jaw. Arthur hadn't been there when Clark defeated Zod. He'd been at home, protecting Martha and Jonathan, looking up at the ceiling as he heard the sound of thunder clash. No, all Arthur had seen was the pale shade of Clark's skin as he limped back into the house, black and purple bruises coloring his skin.

"He got away." He had said that night. Ma and Pa were already asleep and both brothers had sat in Arthur's makeshift boathouse on weak stools. It took time for Arthur; in fact only seconds to realize it was the first time he had ever seen Clark bleeding, from his nose, the corner of his eyes, his mouth. He had a small hole through his top right shoulder. It had been a horrible sight to see, such an immune being Arthur thought to have been taken down to that of the weaknesses of humans. His wounds were fighting hard to heal, causing him pain along the way without the support of the sun. Arthur had cringed, watching as Clark's skin had tried to knit itself back together, like white and bloody tendrils trying to bridge the gap. Yet, Clark stood still as a statue, grunting here and there. It was odd and something Arthur hadn't wanted to get used to seeing. It took around a full two hours before Clark was fully healed. He was out of breath by then and cleaning himself in the lake, surrounded by five crocodiles that watched him with curious eyes. He smiled at them softly, splashing water at them playfully to go on to bed. They went begrudgingly, one whipping him lightly with its tail. He bit back the hiss.

"Did he say anything when you kicked his ass?" Arthur had tried for humor, lips quirked up and eyes watching his brother idly. Carefully. He'd been acting weird ever since he got back. Clark wasn't one for talking but in this instance, Arthur knew there was something wrong.

"Yeah," Clark had breathed out towards the moon as if speaking to it instead of Arthur, hands casually wafting through the water and Arthur tried to ignore the blood washing away from them and into the lake. "He said the next time he sees me… He'd kill everything I ever loved and anything that ever loved me."

"Turns out he's not alone this time…"

Arthur jolted out of the memory when he heard Bruce's voice, eyes immediately finding the man. Zod isn't alone. Not like last time when he had thought he was the only Kryptonian to inhabit Earth. No, he was serious this time and as Arthur looked towards Clark once more he imagined far more holes in his body than last time, much more blood, and a lot more paler.

"Scanners from the JLA Watchtower show a small fleet of Kryptonian ships orbiting the moon." Bruce's hand makes the slightest gesture and a small holograph at the corner of the table enlarges, showing a crisp outline of the moon with two to five ships orbiting around it. "It barely reaches the number of a full sized armada but with one quarter of the strength and powers you possess, Clark, it'll be large enough to disable the JLAs protective barrier and any military forces the world throws at it."

Mera's eyes find Clark. "I thought you said you were the only living survivor when Krypton was destroyed."

"That was years ago…" He answered, working his jaw, "Apparently, there were others who had the means to escape before the planet exploded… I don't know how but Zod somehow managed to locate them."

"Whoever they are… They spared no expense." Bruce motioned to the ships.

Clark's hands flex and twitch. "That is a Kryptonian warship, surrounding it, are freighter ships that hold soldiers, enough for about a hundred…"

He shakes his head and turns away, hands gripping the railing and the sound of metal denting; screeching echoes lowly in the cave. Bats squealed in annoyance and flapped their wings. A white hot hatred and anger was broiling within him, something that he had never experienced so intensely before. He closed his eyes, gluing them together to withhold the red beams that threatened to burst forth. They could've saved them, some of them at least.

"Clark."

He exhales, allowing his fingers to uncurl one by one from the railing and turned back towards the rest of the group with a terribly calm demeanor, eyes icy as the ocean. With one hand, he motioned towards the hologram, "The warship's armor is almost impenetrable but the surrounding ships are vulnerable to EMPs and anti-aircraft guns."

"Do you know why they haven't attacked yet? They have the power." Mera points out.

"The same reason he came here last time..." Clark states, arms crossing defensively over his chest, "To terraform Earth."

"If I may interrupt," Alfred says, raising a hand slightly to garner Clark's attention, "How would one conquer such a considerable feat?"

Clark sighs. "He'd need a ship, that would be the World Engine, he'd need satellites to act as a relay surrounding the Earth, and then… the Phantom Drive. Installing the Phantom Drive into the World Engine would create a beam of power that would shoot straight into the Earth's core and the relay would do so all around the world, creating different areas of entry that would allow the World Engine to begin terraforming Earth into… Krypton."

"Luckily enough for us, Kal, you have the World Engine at the Fortress right?" Arthur asks, straightening from his position against the railing and approaching the table.

"It's there… Collecting dust."

"We don't have time for luck. The Phantom Drive is still out there and holds far more power and importance than the Engine." Bruce states.

"All I know is that it's on Earth and I tried to obtain it as soon as it soon broke the Earth's atmosphere but I was too late. The humans mistook it as a… meteorite. It's now under the study of the Themysciran Embassy."

Mera sighed, "Of course it is."

"If it's there, we need not to worry about it. I don't doubt the Amazons can hold their own against the Kryptonians." Bruce expands, looking the alien up and down with goading ire.

Clark raised a brow.

"So, how does this include us, Bruce?" Arthur gestured towards the projection.

Bruce took in a deep breath, looking over at Alfred for a brief moment before turning back towards the table. His hands found both the corners of the table and he looked the three in their eyes, one by one. "I need you to help me stop this..."

"No."

Clark responded without missing a beat, arms unfolding, and rising from his rested position.

Bruce rose as well at the blatant sign of intimidation. "I know I said earlier how the League could handle Zod but that's not the case anymore… He has the support of a warship and entire fleets of Kryptonians that have been powered by the sun's rays for God knows how long. Kryptonite won't matter if they have a warship and guns."

"I said no Bruce… I got a lot on my plate already. I can't-"

"Clark, you don't understand how important this is… Your fear is clouding your judgement. You defeated Zod once, you can do it again."

"That was a long time ago, Bruce!" Clark shouts heatedly. "That was before Arthur and I were kidnapped, before Zod understood the powers Earth's sun could provide him, before I knew what saving the world would entail, before Zod threatened everyone I loved and cared about. I'm not going to give him the chance to take away everything I've worked so hard to protect. And even if I did manage to defeat a tanked up Zod, I'd be revealing myself once more to those assholes who took Arthur and I, who experimented on us like some sort of lab rats… You told me your JLA can handle it, so have faith in your team and let them handle it."

Bruce scoffs incredulously; bright eyes finding the Kryptonian's. "Yet you reveal yourself for a woman and a team that didn't need you?"

Clark's hands dig brutally into his biceps, tight fists beginning to form. "Without me, your team would be dead."

"Yeah? What about all the other times my team has been on the brink of death and haven't needed you."

Clark remains silent.

"Yeah, I heard about your little adventure and how it didn't end quite as you thought." Bruce comments, moving from the edge of the table closer to Clark. Mera cringes and looks away. Arthur watches on, ever the confused one, brows furrowed. "What were you thinking, huh? Going out and spending three hours with a woman you don't even know, alone in a Chinese restaurant, laughing and giggling and playing games. You didn't think you wouldn't be noticed?"

Bruce is in his face now, trying to look intimidating when he is just a mere five inches beneath him. Clark licks his lips and peers down at his shoes. Bruce doesn't back down.

His upper lip curls spitefully as he spits, "You give me this speal about how you can't fight Zod without revealing yourself… Yet, there you were… With a woman that didn't even want you."

Clark sniffs and with calculated strength punches the billionaire. Bruce is sent hurtling through the air, back hitting the surface of the table before toppling over the edge into the adjacent railing. He groans when the railing bites into his back. The force had torn Bruce's upper lip open and broken his nose. Alfred moves swiftly towards Bruce, crouching down next to him and placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.

Arthur, seeing the enraged sparkle in Clark's eyes, grabs his arm, trying to keep him at bay from tearing into Bruce. Clark looked down at the billionaire.

"We're done here."

With that being said Clark takes off into the night, followed by both Mera and Arthur.

Alfred watches on; concerned as Bruce wipes a generous amount of blood from his nose and huffs. Grabbing a handkerchief from his breast pocket, he hands it to him. "Master Wayne, I would think you'd know better than to poke the sleeping bear."

"I need him awake, Al," Bruce rasps, his earlier facade clearing from his face and morphing into that of something sober. "I hated what I had to say to him but now is not the time for friendships or kindness when shit is about to hit the fan… I need him angry for what comes next."

. . . . .

Clark lands haphazardly in the sand, feet almost tangling as he tries to catch himself, stumbling for a second, the shifting of the sand making it far more difficult than need be. All he wants to do is go to bed and fall asleep, where his dreams will be waiting for him with an alternate reality where life is far more easier. He scoffs and rubs at his face, fingers running through the hair there. He makes his way towards the bar's patio steps before taking a seat, ignoring the gigantic hole in the wall next to him and the accusing gaze of the agitated bartender. Sighing heavily through his nose, he leans back against the steps and closes his eyes, completely ignoring the way the King and Queen of Atlantis rise gracefully out of the water, eyes set on the slumped being in the chair.

"What happened to the bar?" Arthur all but shouts, ending his slow walk to pick up an agitated pace towards the gigantic hole. Under his eyelids, Clark rolls his eyes.

"Ask the alien." Will answered, hammer and nail in hand as he attached boards to close the gaping hole. "Had to close down the bar for the day because of this."

"William… Amscray. Clark and I will fix it, later." Arthur threw a thumb over his shoulder towards the ocean. William set down the hammer and nails and began to make his way down the beach, unbuttoning his shirt along the way. He shucked off the shirt and tossed his cleaning towel to the sand before diving into the water. Never rising. Arthur turns towards his lounging brother. "What's going on with you, Kal?"

Clark rubs at his eyes. Irritated; "I'm just tired, Arthur… You know, busy day."

Arthur nods and walks towards him before crouching down in front of him. He considers him for a moment, long wet hair sweeping in the wind. "You may be a good liar to everyone else, but not to me."

Clark huffs beneath the palm of his hands. It's a minute before he says anything else and Arthur takes the time to look at him, analyzing him. He'd been so busy in Atlantis he hadn't had the time to check on his brother and looking at him now, whatever he had done, it seemed to have taken a toll on him. His unkempt hair seemed wilder and his eyes had developed slight bags underneath them. The beard everyone seemed to hate was growing awry and ridiculously thick. His clothes were ragged but it wasn't just his outward appearance that had gotten Arthur but the way he acted now as well. His brother was at war with himself, his mind and heart tearing him apart, shredding him into bits and pieces for the outside world to feast upon. He was lost, the path that had seemed so clear long ago now blurred by a dense fog that now had Kal-El desperately trying to find a way. Martha had warned him about this, Clark's blatant attempt at keeping everything the same, never desiring the change. And who could blame him? So much has already happened. Changed, really. Clark has been trying desperately to be a good sport about it all but Arthur could see the depths of depression in his dimming blue eyes, the barely contained anger, the control that he had to express. Arthur was scared. Scared of what would happen to him when Martha would be taken away from them.

"I, uh... " Clark sniffs and takes in a deep breath. Arthur doesn't rush him, only grabbing him by the knee and moving it in the slightest. It keeps him grounded, Martha had told him one afternoon, sitting on the porch and watching John and Clark work the field while they ate peaches. Keep him grounded, he remembers, even if he desires the flight, don't allow him to get lost in the clouds. "I… I visited ma today."

Arthur nodded, his silent consent for him to continue.

"She is so weak, Arthur." Clark chokes out and his body is tense. Arthur can tell he's holding back tears, holding back the part within him that wants to scream his sadness. It's hard, he knows, holding back the tide. "I should've realized sooner…"

"Hey," Arthur shoots up and wraps his arms around him, tightly. Never letting go. "We cannot fight human nature, Kal... It is beyond us. No matter how strong we are, no matter where we come from, or the powers we hold, there's no denying the powers of mother nature. It is not our choice in who lives or dies. Our only choice is what we do during their lifetime. No one can mess with the laws of life and death. She taught me that, she taught you that."

Clark nods into his shoulder. "I just wish we had longer."

"Me too, Kal."