Well this was a prompt on tumblr and I really liked how it turned out so I decided to post it here. Thoughts. ;)
Anon Request: How about a huntress/sportsmaster prompt?
Paula's crying when she opens the door and she was half expecting to see him there anyway. It isn't a surprise so much as unwarranted. All these years and now he bothers to visit and this bothers her.
Lawrence raises his left hand and the metallic, golden ring catches the light. "Does this mean anything" he asks before he invites himself inside sidestepping the wheelchair and sitting heavily on the sofa.
It had been hard to hear the news from someone she had fondly begun to think of as your son-in-law. It had hurt. She wonders how he found out - he has his methods. Paula closes the door and rolls into the kitchen preparing to make tea while distractedly glancing over her shoulder. The fact that her daughter, their daughter, is dead is the only reason that he's here; because you're still together. Divorce. You never made the time for it.
Crocks don't cry. That was a mantra her daughter lived and died by and as she looks at the man who so resembles her daughter Paula feels her throat constrict. Lawrence may not cry but the fact that he is here spoke volumes.
"So my baby girl is gone," he states hollowly looking at the distressed woman, "And here I was hoping it was some insidious Justice League plan."
"That's sick," Paula states pouring hot water over the jasmine tea leaves. His beverage choice had always stumped her it was so effeminate. This big, bulky man who could snap bones like twigs sitting down to drink jasmine tea was one of the things that had fascinated Paula during the "courting" phase because he was no genius. In fact when Paula had first met the miserable, bitter figure known as Sportsmaster after being trained by elite assassins in Vietnam all she could think was wimp. His costume, pathetic and cliche. Nothing in the least had even been worth noticing in her blonde, limp partner. But then he had surprised her.
Lawrence was always full of surprises.
"We're still together," he states when he takes the tea from Paula's outstretched hands, "For better or worse." He blows then sips.
"She's not your baby girl," corrects Paula crossing her hands in her lap. Lawrence gets this little smirk on his face and his eyebrows raise.
"Keep telling yourself that." Paula bites her lip and fixes her eyes on his kneecaps - the knees that move, and creak, and kneel in blood. Her knees don't move. Beneath the pants her legs look dead and withered and she hates it. She misses those lingering nights on rooftops and the wind in her hair while escaping through alleys. She misses the fight and flight. She misses moving. Now he moves for both of them and he moves in ways she doesn't even want to imagine.
"She died a hero."
The man chuckles fingering the eye holes of his mask before placing it in front of his face mockingly and laughing, "If that makes you feel better. But little Artemis was no hero. She was stained. Stained and soiled."
"Why are you here?" she asks her patience snapping her eyes pooling with tears for the little girl she couldn't protect. The second daughter she's lost to a darkness only this time it's to the one no one returns from, "She was our daughter."
"And that's why I'm here. Death doesn't pick sides. I'm here to remind you of that. Although I can't say I'm not happy. I don't want another redhead for a son-inlaw."
"You don't know anything," hisses Paula vehemently, "Not one damn thing."
"You shouldn't bother acting like you do." A tense silence settles between them - it's no different than usual. Always the same. Tense until one of them breaks and pounces on the other; tussles and teeth, flesh and bone. That's the past though and this is the present and they just lost a daughter.
"I'm going to get him," Sportsmaster says to no one in particular as he slams the cup onto the coffee table, it rattles some of Artemis's arrows that she had forgotten on her last visit.
"She wouldn't want you to. He was her friend."
"Well she ain't around to stop me no more."
"Even in death you can't respect her wishes." She slams her fist on the armrest of her wheelchair. Sportsmaster snorts and stands.
"You never change Huntress. You're an idealist."
"Don't call me that."
"Wasn't one of your fondest little wishes to have one of our daughters take up your namesake?"
"That was then," she emphasizes tersely. It seems like only yesterday that she held those tiny bundles. But yesterday was so long ago.
"And this is now," he guffaws, "You couldn't stop me then and you can't stop me now." He leans over and kisses her. It's unexpected but she doesn't refuse even in the darkest most hidden recess of her soul she knows she still loves him. There has always been something sensual and drawing in his kisses they were little entrapments.
His mask is fixed to his face instantly as he makes his way to the door, "I'll kill him when this is all over." It's a promise. Before he leaves he sends Paula one fleeting glance over his shoulder, "And don't put some sappy crap on our daughter's tombstone."
Paula can't help but smile at the funeral held the next day when she sees Artemis's gravestone: Beloved daughter and daddy's baby girl.