The Authority
The Cruel World
He was sitting with Contractor when it all started. They’d split up shortly after arriving in this new universe and headed out in groups for reconnaissance, searching for signs of their targets and anything else that looked like it might be useful to take home. Contractor had immediately found herself a secluded picnic table in a park and started scanning the world’s networks. Kid Apollo had stayed because, well, they were friends, though after a few minutes of idly standing around he got the impression his help wasn’t exactly required. So he’d wandered out of the park to fetch them both a latte from the Starbucks across the street; and if that hadn’t been an adventure and a half he didn’t know what would have been. People here were… odd.
He told Contractor as much when he returned, and her eyes had focused outwards for a moment to grin at him as she took the offered drink.
He sat down on the table next to her. “Any luck?”
Which prompted a broad, slightly guilty smile. “Well, I, uh, maybe got a bit distracted.” Apollo was bathed in pale blue light as she created a one-dimensional screen in the air in front of them. “See, check it out…”
An image flicked to life on the screen. An oddly… familiar image.
“Hey, that’s—”
“The Authority,” Contractor finished for him. “They’re this world’s version of us.”
Apollo peered closer. “They’re all, like, so old.” He could see himself there; standing tall and grinning, back-to-back with the elder Daybreaker, and something about the casual way the pair in the photo seemed to almost be leaning against one another, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, made his heart clench. Just a little. He tore his eyes away, instead asking in a too-casual voice, “Who’s this?”
Contractor followed his pointing finger to the unfamiliar figure standing in the centre of the group. A brief pause as she scanned for information, then, “Jenny Quantum, apparently. She’s their leader; some kind of reincarnation from the previous one, Jenny Sparks.”
More images flashed across the screen; grainy, blurry news footage inter-cut with what were obviously glamour shots from magazines and TV interviews. With every new scene Apollo felt the tightness in his chest squeeze just that little bit harder. It was impossible to miss, was there in every single picture; the two powerful, broad figures standing, always together, black and white and so at ease. Surely it wasn’t just wishful thinking on his part — his deepest, darkest secret writ plain — surely someone else must have noticed, surely…
And then Contractor said, “… oh.”
“What?” He didn’t like the sound of her voice, though for the life of him couldn’t quite articulate why.
He really didn’t like the way she refused to meet his eyes, instead bit her lip almost shyly and said, “Quantum is… uh, her parents were killed when she was a baby. She was raised by the Authority. More specifically, uh, she’s the adopted daughter of, well, of you. You and him.”
She was pointing at the black-clad figure of the not-Daybreaker.
Something in the pit of Apollo’s stomach seemed to have fallen out somewhere. Talking was impossibly difficult. “Oh.”
Contractor did look at him then, and for once Apollo was grateful for the layer of silver that blanked her expression just a little bit. Because Contractor knew; the only other one who did. He’d had to tell her —months ago now — back when she’d tried to kiss him. She’d taken it well, and kept his secret faithfully even if she couldn’t quite resist the temptation to tease him about it almost non-stop when they were alone. Because it was Daybreaker and, well, he was just such a total schel. But even Contractor had to admit he was pretty damn cute, when he didn’t open his mouth, and even when he did — when you put aside all the posturing and wise-assing — he was ferociously loyal and surprisingly brave and, well, Apollo was smitten. Big time.
But it was still Daybreaker, and Apollo had never thought…
A new image on the screen, this time; his older self beamed at the camera with a god-like grace Kid Apollo could only ever dream of, wrapped up in an exquisite white tuxedo and standing arm in arm with—
“What the hell?” He blinked. The whole thing was crazy. Absolutely insane, except… except it was there, right in front of him. And there were too many flowers for it to be anything other than what it looked like.
“The wedding of Apollo and the Midnighter,” Contractor finished for him.
Kid Apollo had a crush on Daybreaker the size and intensity of the sun, but he’d never ever except in his wildest dreams allowed to think that maybe — just maybe — it could ever be reciprocated.
Never ever… except for now.
He was going to absolutely murder Apollo when he got his hands on the bantling kook. Nobody — absolutely nobody — pulled a stunt like that on the Daybreaker and lived to tell the tale; team-mate or no team-mate, it was time to rap.
If he was being honest with himself — really, brutally, deeply honest — Daybreaker would have had to have admitted that, well, maybe he had kinda already known. Kinda. It was hard not to, really, and maybe it wasn’t so much the realisation of the fact itself that boiled him as having to admit to himself that the others must have known. Or suspected, at least. They’d even made jokes about it, sometimes; about how… protective Kid Apollo had always been when it came to Daybreaker. How every last inch of his slaphappy grin evaporated whenever the Serious Business went down and Daybreaker was right in the thick of it. And, truth be told, that frugged him right off, too; maybe more than anything else. That Apollo had the brass to think he was some kind of… kind of girl who needed rescuing and coddling just because of some kook crush.
Daybreaker was no-one’s damsel in distress. And he was going to teach it to Kid Apollo. The hard way.
As soon as he found the bantling.
The irony of the whole situation wasn’t exactly lost on him, either. Daybreaker supposed none of this would have blown in if he hadn’t pulled Apollo aside after the fight to carpet the kook for it. Sure, watching Kid Apollo in full colour was always impressive, but the way he kicked it was always so embarrassing. Not to mention he’d been acting grody since they’d arrived, and Daybreaker had had about enough of the way Apollo seemed to constantly float two steps behind but refused to meet his eyes or — since this morning — even talk to him. So he’d asked the Kid what his damage was, had thrown Apollo back against a wall when the schel had tried to leave on him, and then shock had been replaced in Apollo’s eyes by a supernova and for a moment Daybreaker had thought maybe he should be ducking lest he suddenly find himself without a head, when he’d found himself flipped back against the bricks — and damn if Apollo wasn’t a strong bantling when he wanted to be — and then Apollo had…
Kid Apollo had kissed him.
There; he’d said it. In his head, but he’d said it all the same.
The schel had flown off soon after.
Daybreaker stopped. He’d been looking for Apollo ever since but, truth be told, he probably wasn’t the best man for the job. Apollo could fly. More than that; he could fly fast, and if he didn’t want Daybreaker to find him, well, Daybreaker wouldn’t. He supposed he could have called in Contractor. She and Apollo were close — hell, before today he’d almost thought they’d been together — and, more importantly, if anyone could find him, she could. But he didn’t. He wasn’t sure why. Or rather, maybe he was, but didn’t want to admit that this was something he knew he was going to have to do himself. Any way it played — and there could only really be one, right? — it would have to be him. All him.
“Frug.”
The static pop in his ears was the only warning he got, but that was plenty and he was in a crouch by the time he’d turned, staff in hand and ready to rap and—
“Christ, you’ve got to be kidding me.”
This, Daybreaker thought absently, was fear. Coming up against a wall of probabilities and there wasn’t a single one in which he wouldn’t be dead before his first breath. But that wasn’t anything new. It wasn’t common, of course, but it wasn’t new, either. It didn’t explain the curling pit of terror in his heart or the tiny tremble that ran through his hands. The tremble he knew — absolutely knew, more than he’d ever known anything — that the man standing not five feet away noticed.
Because that was the fear; not the feeling in his bones or his stomach or his nerves. The man in front of him was fear; his fear. The fear he felt when he was alone at night and no matter how hard he scrubbed the blood wouldn’t come off his hands. The fear he hid from himself under the trash-talk and the cocky attitude. The fear not of failing, but of succeeding. And Daybreaker knew he was good at what he did; he was proud of that, in a way, because being good was okay. It was safe. And it was easy to be good, because being good wasn’t what he’d been made for. Not even close. He’d been made to be the best.
Like the man standing in front of him right now, the man Contractor had told them about. The Midnighter; this world’s version of him.
Except… except Daybreaker was not that man; had never let himself become that man. Stripped bare of everything except purpose. The purpose of death.
Kid Apollo was missing and Midnighter was here. Daybreaker joined the dots.
“What have you done with Apollo?”
It was hard to tell through the mask, but he could have sworn Midnighter grinned slightly at his words. “That’s cute, kid. We both know you’ve got no chance.”
It was true, but somehow it didn’t matter. Because if this schel had done something to Apollo… “Don’t make me ask twice.”
And then, impossibly, Midnighter laughed. It sounded almost… warm. “The Kid was right; you are a snot.” It was almost imperceptible, but something about his posture seemed to relax. “We’ve got your Apollo, but he came to us. He’s on the Carrier, talking with my Apollo; heart-to-heart stuff, not my thing. So you can relax. He’s not in any danger.”
Language barrier or not, Daybreaker couldn’t help but hear the inflection in those words. He frowned. “Are you threatening me, pops?”
“Maybe. Seems our Kid’s a bit heartsick over you. God only knows why.”
“What would you know about it?”
“Enough. So here’s the deal, mini-me. You wanna break the Kid’s heart, that’s your loss. But if you’ve gotta do it, you do it gently, understand? Or there won’t be enough worlds to put between us to keep me from what I’ll do to you.”
And the thing — the crazy, impossible thing — was that Daybreaker was pretty damn sure Midnighter was dead serious. He wanted to wonder why. He didn’t have to though, not really, because he knew — if their situations were reversed, like he’d thought they were, mere moments ago — he would’ve done the same thing, made the same threat. He would’ve been just as serious… though if anyone had asked him why, exactly, he wouldn’t have been able to answer. Not because he didn’t know. Because he didn’t want to.
But Midnighter knew.
“Your Apollo,” he asked slowly, “what is he to you?”
Another wolfish grin, backlit this time by the harsh yellow of the opened Door. “Everything.”
He was gone.
Kid Apollo landed on the grass behind him about twenty minutes later. Daybreaker was where Midnighter had left him; sitting on a rock on a hill overlooking the town where it spilled out lazily below. And it was funny, because he’d spent the entire time thinking about how this was going to go, what he was going to say, but now that he was actually here…
Now that he was actually here the only thing Daybreaker could think about was how terribly sad his eyes looked. His chin was tilted up a little in the usual over-confident way that drove Daybreaker absolutely insane, but it was all plaster, really, and behind the crossed arms Daybreaker could all but feel Apollo bracing himself for rejection.
Well… that was good, right? Because that was what he was going to get; no matter what some out-yored kook had said.
And what a big fat cosmic practical joke that would be; for Apollo to be turned down by anyone. Even Daybreaker could admit the guy rewrote the book on beautiful; he was the one all the cats threw their panties at, after all. Not that he’d ever seemed to care which, of course, made a hell of a lot more sense now. Daybreaker wasn’t sure whether that made the situation more or less spiky. Because truth be told, he’d always hated Apollo for his easy good looks and holier-than-thou attitude that seemed to draw the girls to him like wolves on lamb. No-one looked twice at the swellhead, gawky carrot-top when the blond god was flying around.
Well, apparently not no-one.
The silence stretched on. It occurred to Daybreaker that he was staring, but he still couldn’t find any words to fill in the gap. So Apollo did it for him; sighing and biting his lip slightly.
“It’s okay, you don’t have to say anything.”
He hesitated a moment before finally seeming to come to some portentous decision. Which, it turned out, was sitting himself down on the rock next to Daybreaker. Not too close.
Even so, Daybreaker could still feel Apollo’s impossible warmth radiating out across his left side. He’d touched that warmth — briefly, impossibly — felt it seep into his hands and his lips and—
Damn. Damn the all. Damn every Apollo on every world. Damn Midnighter. Damn himself. Damn fate, or destiny, or karma or whatever it was. Damn this stupid universe for even making him think about it. Because now he had. And he couldn’t stop.
So instead he blurted, “I’m not some kitten for you to pull out of trees, you know.”
“What?” Apollo looked honestly shocked. Damn him.
“Do you think I can’t take care of myself, or what?”
Shocked turned into a slight frown. “Not this agai—”
“Yes, ‘this again’. Just tell me.”
Apollo sighed, looked away. “It’s not that, Denny, of course I know you can look after yourself.”
“Then why—”
“Because. I just… I don’t like to see you hurt, okay. I don’t like it.” He looked up slightly, and there was something almost… wicked in his eye. “Besides, it’s not like you don’t do the same to me.”
“W-what?” The brass of the little bantling! “Don’t talk dross.”
Apollo grinned broadly, even if it didn’t quite touch his eyes, and Daybreaker had to admit that the sight was… nice. Apollo didn’t smile much; not like that, anyway. Not for him. “C’mon; you were totally ready to rumble with Midnighter.”
“That’s— that’s completely different!” A pause. Apollo was just looking at him. “… It’s not different, is it?” he admitted finally. He sighed, looked back out over the city; chin on his knees. “Frug.”
The moment of levity went as quickly as it had come. Apollo was studying his hands again, terribly intently. “I just… I just want you to know,” he started, “I know I’ve… sunk out everything a bit, and it’s okay if you feel, y’know, awkward. And stuff. But… but this is my… thing, and it’s okay if you don’t, y’know…”
And it occurred to Daybreaker, right about then, how cruel this universe really was. To force someone like Apollo to have to make the I-Hope-We-Can-Still-Be-Friends speech when he knew the guy’s heart was breaking. He was about ready to track down the coldheart schel who’d caused all this and do some damage when it occurred to him exactly what that would mean.
Oh. Right.
And Apollo was still stumbling through his speech, still watching his fingers twist the edge of his cape. And his hood was down for once and the twilight sun was gleaming off his halo just so and, frug, he looked about half an ant’s step off crying. Daybreaker couldn’t remember a time he’d ever seen Apollo so vulnerable, and it hurt him. Deeply. And he hoped like hell that wherever Midnighter was right now, he was watching his back. Because the next time Daybreaker saw the bantling there’d be pain.
“Hey Apollo,” he said, and those wide blue eyes had turned to look at him warily. “Shut the frug up.” It was exactly how it should have gone.
Apollo tasted like the dawn.