Disclaimer: I don't own anything Justice League.

It has been a very long time since I wrote on . Not to mention that this is the first tribute to one of my favorite couples in the League. Really, the best, quirkiest pair ever made. I just wish that this truly happened in the DC world. So here is my version, since I can't express it in any other way. I hope you enjoy reading it.


A well of unease and suspicion formed an abysmal pit in his gut. It was growing and expanding, mutating into something dark and unnerving. Connecting the dots, from point X to B, his form of thought was never linear. It crisscrossed and swerved into different directions. Like a tangent, his perceptions were deemed bizarre and uncanny. Disgusted even. But he never gave it further assessment. Until now.

Vic found himself moping in front of the blank screen. Yes, moping. Not brooding over the One World government located in Casablanca or coma-induced toothpaste from China. Stark whiteness that illuminated from his computer would have calmed him. But this time, his source of solitude, his electronic house of nonlinear theories and convictions gave him no motivation to work. Something blocked his stream of conscious thinking. His quirky neurotransmitters found themselves dysfunctional and static. The only thing that raced through his mind was Helena.

It all started last night. Their first real fight escalated when he pointed out her refusal of bequeathing to him her extra key. They were having dinner in his apartment; he was hunched over his newspaper clippings while she sat next to him with her legs crossed over reading Cosmopolitan.

Without her sensing his gaze, he watched her amusement peaking as her lips twitched upwards in a mischievous smirk. Her eyes twinkled ominously, her tongue smoothing her upper lip as she read an article that clearly humored her.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you're luring your food into bed. And I don't mean hunger pangs," Q said after having a bite of Helena's famous meatballs.

"You jealous?" Helena dropped the magazine and slid a pointed heel along his inner thigh.

Q responded by one-handedly grabbing her ankle, slipping off her shoe, and massaging her tired sole. She instantly purred and pounced onto his lap, her arms wrapping around his broad shoulders. She leaned in for a kiss when his communicator beeped to life.

He cursed inwardly before responding to the Martian's call.

Unfortunately for Helena, Vic switched instantly to The Question when Justice League called. His whole body went stiff and stone-cold against her warm caress.

She was making a move to pluck the comlink out of his ear when Vic suddenly stood up. Her quick reflexes saved her from hitting her hip against the edge of the table. Vic, however, didn't seem to notice. He nonchalantly marched into his room, leaving his half-eaten spaghetti and meatballs behind. In retrospect, he made an about-face to gather his paper clippings before resuming his journey to his room to change.

Angry and disappointed, Helena swung the rolled magazine at his back.

He stopped short in the hallway, half-turning to meet her glare.

"This is why I don't even bother," Helena grabbed his plate and plunked it on top of hers.

"This is why…?" This caught Q's attention.

"You always shut me out whenever the League calls. Makes me feel like a hooker," Helena was close to dropping the plates.

"Helena," Q started in her direction but she turned around to avoid him. "It's my job."

"Everything is your job. Your newspaper clippings, computer, your billboard with arrows pointing in all directions. Even in your sleep you mumble your stupid conspiracies out loud that I can't even get one night of silence." Helena stomped into the kitchen.

Q followed her. "Conspiracy. Singular."

"You're correcting me now?" Helena yelled, slammed a hand on the counter.

"Helena, please. Calm down."

"I'm out of here," she said, walking past him on her way out of the kitchen.

"Where are you going? Aren't you sleeping in?"

"Not when your beloved League is asking for you," Helena grabbed her purse and keys. "What's the point of me staying when you'll be up there for the whole week. Maybe longer."

"This mission will be short."

"Yeah, two nights up there and snooping around for the rest of the week. It's like you're never around. You shut me out all the time."

"That makes two of us," Q said. As soon as he said it, however, he felt like digging his own grave. Now he wished he could jump into a hole than having to deal with the fuming Huntress.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Helena offered him her angry, undivided attention.

"You complain that I don't open up when I let you stay in my apartment. You even have an extra key. You, on the other hand, always avoid any discussion regarding me stepping one foot in your apartment."

"So now you're implying that I'm the frigid one?" Helena scoffed. "Letting your girlfriend in the apartment doesn't come close to a get-out-of-jail card, Q. But if that's how your past relationships were—if you even had one—fine. You want a key, make one. I bet you know where the spare key is."

Q didn't respond.

Helena turned the knob when she said, "Don't bother calling me this week. I'll be having company." With that said, she slammed the door after her.

For the first time in his life, Q knew that his theories would be of no help for him. As he plowed through his memory during the past month, he could name a few men that held her interest, though they were minor she'd tell him.

His mind was blank. Butterflies took flight in his stomach. He was suddenly hungry.

Before he knew it, he was standing in front of the stove. A fork dove into the pot and a roll of spaghetti was ready to be ingested. But this time it would be tasteless and of slimy texture. It would leave a dirty taste in his mouth. It was like finding out that your girlfriend has been interested in another man besides you.

The Question called the Martian to decline the job. Something suddenly came up in Gotham.

He was not about to tag it as cheating. Conspiracy or not, Q was going to get to the bottom of Helena's mystery man. Though it could be nothing. Just a fragment of Q's paranoia. But for her to act so coolly, there has to be something. Though the truth may leave him broken forever; somehow, knowing was always better than not knowing. That was just the way he was.

With his fedora in place, Q sprayed his chemical disguise on and walked out the door.


First option: tap into his girlfriend's phone lines. Second option: peruse the past two months' telephone bills. Third option: disguise as the security guard and keep watch of whoever visits her.

Or, fourth option: stake her apartment from the roof of a thirty-story building right next to hers. On any ordinary night this would have automatically topped his list. But tonight was still experiencing the humid beatings of an earlier rain shower. It was tempting to bring along bottled water to the stakeout but he couldn't risk going to the bathroom and losing sight of whatever is going on with Helena at this hour.

With his binoculars glued to his unseen eyes, he watched her saunter into her bathroom. When she emerged with a silky robe draping her incredible physique, she instantly made a grab for her phone. Someone must be calling her.

A smile brightened her face and softened her eyes. Her head tilted back in amusement. Q had never seen her smile or laugh like that when she was with him.

Sighing, he berated himself for not tapping her phone lines.

When his mind wandered to the sinister place plagued with suspicion and imaginary lovers talking dirty behind the hapless idiot of a boyfriend, his mind woke from its reverie when she suddenly stripped out of her bathrobe and was completely naked.

Q could feel himself profusely sweating. Particularly in the area below…

On second thought, 'Why does she never remember to close the blinds?" Although he could never get sick of the view…

She quickly put on her jeans and blouse—her casual wear. But not before he caught her slipping on her lacy underwear. No man could resist the lace. It was almost always hypnotic. Even now he could feel the pull drawing him to the verge of falling over. But the spell was instantly broken when she donned her jeans.


He turned around and began making his descent to the busy life below.


Q was careful not to drive closer than ten yards behind her. He made sure that at least two cars were blocking her view. He followed her to Bludhaven. When she led him to more shrubbery, however, he grew uneasy. Was she on to him? Did she suspect a tail?

But she never hesitated. She clearly had a destination in mind. And before he knew it, Q found himself cruising down a neighborhood. Because he and Helena were basically the only drivers on the road, Q made sure that he was at least fifteen yards from her with his headlights turned off.

Just when she turned right at a curb, Q slowed down. He was inching forward until he heard her dying engine. Did she finally realize that someone was following her? He stopped the car and waited. He stopped breathing. He parked right next to a yellow house, the curb just three feet from him.

He then heard footsteps clicking down a stony walkway. Sensing her proximity, Q slid out of the car and crouched behind a line of shrubs, peeping to see which house she was visiting. He caught a glimpse of her profile standing at the porch of the yellow house.

The door swung open and Helena beamed at the host. She disappeared from his sight.

Q tiptoed to the window and found himself looking at the living room.

Right there in the living room was Helena with her arms wrapped around an older man. He could feel his lungs constricting; he should have brought a brown bag with him. After watching her peck the man's cheek, Q turned away, hunched over. He could no longer keep it up tonight.

He had to take his mind off things. Perhaps the One World government would momentarily put him out his misery. Or maybe…


Breaking into Helena's apartment and hacking into her computer took him no longer than five minutes, but having to sift through her inbox was torturous work. Definitely worse than downloading terabytes of secret government files.

"An email from Reggie Bronx, Sean Dumpsteen, Jonathan Wright, Walter Greens, John Meyer…" Q was a click away from deleting all her messages. Well, a majority of her incoming messages were from men.

An email from John Meyer caught his eye. The subject line was a reply to 'Lover Spat.' He clicked on the message and read it.

'Sorry to hear that, Lena. I just found out that Tina made plans and you know what that means. Come by at 8?'

"Lena? That's her nickname?" Q felt his brainwaves slowing down. He could feel the crushing weight of his ribs, or his heart, whichever works—was there a difference?—but the only thing roaming through his mind was Lena. Helena. Cheating with a married man. Kissing the married man in the living room.

Oh, numbness spread through his body like wildfire. He had to get out before Helena walked in…

He heard the key click at the front door. How long was he on her computer? He checked the time. It was a quarter to ten.

Great. The first and only time he didn't pay attention was snooping around his girlfriend's emails.

He quickly logged out, shut the computer, and nearly flew to the window. Q was just closing the windowpane behind him when he saw the lights switched on.

Before falling to his doom, he might as well have one last look at the only one who accepted him for who he really was. Her bare, chiseled back faced him with her long black hair sweeping across her shoulder blades.

Q didn't notice that he was standing in a precarious position when his body shifted to the side for a better view. When he leaned his weight toward the window even more, he lost his footing and slipped, grabbing the ledge just in time.

Helena must have heard the commotion because she was looking down at him from her window with a puzzled look. Oh God, she looked gorgeous with her tightly knit eyebrows.

"Q! What the hell are you doing outside my window?"

"Questions later. Mind giving me a hand?" Q yelled.

She helped him up and into her apartment. She waited until he finally could breathe. He tentatively walked toward her with his head bent down in silent apology.

"If you think that forgoing the League for only one night will make up for the other nights will make me forgive you, well, you're wrong. And that includes the possibility of surprising me by sneaking into my apartment for some fun-loving…" Before Q could respond, Helena pulled him in by the tie—she loved making the first move—and kissed him.

"Either your mission was really short or you really did call in sick," Huntress whispered.

"The latter," Q said, giving in to Huntress' kisses.

Deluged by each other's hot embrace, they forgot the questions tucked away in the back of their minds. And Q partly thanked his lucky orange boxers for Huntress' very forgiving nature toward the quirkiest, most unintentional romantic gestures that the Question never failed to provide. As they slid into bed, Q made a mental note to leave before Helena woke up the next morning. He would blame the League but he had something else to look into.

What was the relation between Helena and this John Meyer? And if, God forbid, Helena was having an affair with a married man, why was she so hungry for Q right after their supposed tryst? Unless the married wretch had no talent for satisfying one of the most turbulent women, Q still had something worth digging into. Call it madness, but even the worst kind of truth was a drug. His kind of drug.

Even if it meant the culminating end to their relationship.


To be continued…

And reviews are much appreciated!