Note: All characters copyrighted by D.C. Comics/Time-Warner, Inc. Story copyrighted by me. Please ask before archiving. Some cussing.
Ever been to an Amazon funeral with all the trimmings? Sucks. Big time. I've been to nine day Dinne ceremonies that didn't drag on this long.
Sure, the first hour goes by pretty quick. I mean, hey, leggy warrior women in short tunics. No bras. Gravity defying breasts. Must be some kind of Amazon heritage thing. Heh. Gotta love the local culture. A guy would have to be dead not to--yeah... well... forget I said that.
Even the second hour isn't so bad. Go stand with the other Titans like a good little superhero. Look around, see who's here, who's hooking up with who. Watch the Wingster watch the Bat who seems to be standing awfully close to Diana. Wonder what's up with that.
Listen to Garth explain why he's not in his Tempest uniform. I try to be interested. Really. For the first twenty minutes. But I've got him on one side spouting Amazon funeral etiquette and Flash on the other side doing that annoying vibrate in place thing he does when he's nervous.
I take a break long enough to hand Lian over to the old man. Fuss over the way he holds her. Let him growl at me. Grin as she snuggles into "Papa" Ollie's arms. Grin even more when she tugs on his beard.
Get distracted by the flash of sun that hits Lian's necklace and my ring at the same time. Both ugly as sin. Both presents from--did I mention the braless thing?
By the third hour, there's nothing left for me to think about. All of my thoughts circle back to the same place. The reason we're here. The person we're all here for.
My gaze drifts to the funeral bier. There's an Honor Guard. Donna dressed in full Amazon armor. All the big league superheroes spic and span in their colors. It's impressive as hell, but it's not her.
Wingster's wasting breath with the usual "she was the heart of the team" spiel. All around me the appropriately grim, masked faces nod in agreement. Fallen hero. Promising life cut short. Wasn't her time. Same old funeral crap.
I hate this. This isn't the Donna I know. This isn't the Donna I love. The one who likes chili dogs with extra onions. The one who's friggin' hysterical when she reads "Goldilocks" and makes up a voice for each of the three bears. I smile to myself.
The one who memorized my body with her lips.
The smile fades.