Diana hugged a throw pillow and settled in, gesturing for her to continue.
"The Entity is connected to every living thing. Without a host, it's incredibly fragile. If Nekron had killed it, every living being in existence would die—including us. That was his plan. That was what he was doing."
Thea finally saw the full picture of the problem. In this timeline—because of her interference—nobody had actually seen the Entity. A few people with sharp eyes might have noticed the white light beneath Nekron's feet. What was it? No one knew. An entire army of heroes had fought through the night without understanding what they were actually fighting for or against.
The only people who had truly understood were her and Nekron. Even Atrocitus and his Red Lanterns hadn't known how Nekron planned to wipe out all life.
Diana's clear eyes went wide. "Taking the scythe away from him meant that much?"
"Of course. What did you think?"
"I thought you saw a powerful weapon and... decided you wanted it."
Thea went red to the tips of her ears. Not that she'd admit it—even now, that was partly true. She composed her expression into righteous indignation.
"How dare you accuse me of that."
"You're right, I'm sorry, I'll never say it again—"
"Get out the Lasso of Truth. I want the honest answer."
Diana immediately produced the lasso.
Thea wrapped Diana up with practiced efficiency—though the arrangement of the rope raised certain questions about her intentions—As if she already knew what was coming, Diana squirmed. "Can we not? The League might need us—there's still so much going on outside—tonight would be better—"
"The League has plenty of people. They don't need us." Thea's tongue traced the curve of her ear, down along her jaw, then back up to find her lips—lingering there with deliberate intent. She raised two fingers. "You dare say I went deep—fine. I'll show you what deep really means."
Bound tight and thoroughly helpless, Diana could only plead. "Too deep, don't—"
Knowing her beloved was still walking the path of righteousness, Diana set aside all hesitation.
Upper hand in the first half—Thea, armed with righteous indignation and a head start. Second half—Diana rallied, decisively, and Thea found herself thoroughly bullied in return.
"You said I learned bad habits! You're the one with bad habits! What is this?" Thea lifted her wrist, displaying a pair of semi-divine wrist shackles. "Smug because you can forge? You have a whole stockpile of rare materials and you just—"
Diana's reputation for grace and elegance had never exactly been earned at home. Years among humans had made her thoroughly practical, and the Lasso of Truth was not her only tool—she had many other indescribable semi-divine implements besides. Thea was comprehensively reminded of this.
The following morning, both of them arrived at the Justice League meeting with pink cheeks.
"You —" Diana walked through the door and nearly choked on her own words. Bruce Wayne sat in his chair in full Batman gear. She caught herself just in time—several people in the room didn't know his identity.
Bruce blinked. He'd caught their mutual expression—two goddesses staring at him like they'd seen a ghost. I come back, and neither of you told each other? Impressive operational security.
Diana shot Thea a sideways look: You didn't tell me?
Thea offered a helpless half-smile. She had genuinely forgotten. In her defense, the last twenty-four hours had been rather consuming.
They caught up briefly on the Bat-family situation. Dick Grayson was, by his own account, profoundly relieved to return the cowl to its original owner. He was already out of the armor and back to being Nightwing.
Tim Drake, for his part, had no interest in returning to Batman's side at all. He had his own projects, his own ideas for a team he wanted to build. He intended to stay Red Robin and do things his own way. Which left Bruce with only one partner who hadn't moved on: his son Damian.
Every Robin, every generation, Thea thought, eventually wants to leave. There was something oddly consistent about that.
The League members filtered in one by one, most of them visibly exhausted—sweat, grime, the look of people who hadn't stopped moving since the night before. Post-crisis cleanup was apparently every bit as grueling as the crisis itself.
Thea noticed them all clocking Batman's jaw—that distinctive silhouette—and saying nothing. The unspoken League tradition held. Only Superman caught Bruce's eye and gave a brief, quiet nod of acknowledgment.
"Oh—you've got a new Green Lantern again?" Thea looked up as Kyle Rayner came through the door. She hadn't expected him.
Kyle Rayner—artist's temperament, emotional depth wide enough to eventually anchor a White Lantern—was still clearly young and unpolished at this stage. Being addressed by someone with Thea's reputation made him choose his words with notable care.
The others didn't interrupt. For most of the League, the Green Lanterns were still largely mysterious. They paid close attention.
There wasn't much to tell, as it turned out. Thea parsed it in a few exchanges.
After Nekron withdrew and the Black Lanterns went dark, Atrocitus had been left without support and was captured. The four Guardians had been freed. The math was simple: the Green Lanterns had taken catastrophic losses across every sector. Personnel were needed everywhere. Leaving four Lanterns on Earth to sit around would be indefensible.
The Guardians had kept the newest, least experienced member—Kyle—and recalled everyone else.
"Guy Gardner went back to Oa to train replacements. John Stewart is stationed at Sector 1313, planet Xanshi. And Hal Jordan?" Thea asked. Several others—Flash, Green Arrow—looked over. Hal was a friend to most of them.
Kyle Rayner looked deeply uncomfortable. "The Guardians stripped his ring. He's a civilian now."
He read the room quickly. Unlike John Stewart's more stoic delivery, Kyle had the social awareness to keep talking before anyone could react badly.
What he described was ugly.
The Corps had suffered devastating losses. Three Guardians dead. One missing. More than half of the 7,200 Lanterns gone. Someone had to be accountable—or at least made an example of.
The four surviving little blue men had picked their target: Hal Jordan.
The reasoning was tidy, if dishonest. Nekron had manifested on Earth, therefore Earth bore some responsibility. Guy Gardner didn't have the standing to be sacrificed. John Stewart had been loyal to the Guardians throughout. Kyle had been a Green Lantern for under two days. The most convenient scapegoat left was Hal.
In an internal session, using a charge that amounted to nothing, the Guardians had stripped Hal's ring in front of the assembled Corps. No warning. No opportunity to respond. Just—done.
Nobody in the room was pleased with this.
They were all smart enough to know they couldn't intervene in internal Green Lantern affairs. As for Hal himself—most of them privately agreed he was fine. The man had the emotional resilience of structural steel. He was probably off hooking up somewhere at this exact moment, completely untroubled.