Mark grabbed Galatea's arm after their talk in the desert, flying them both back to his apartment, sand still clinging to his skin, figuring the deal he wanted to make was too important to hash out naked in the middle of nowhere—they landed in his wrecked bedroom, dust settling from the busted wall, and he dug through his dresser, pulling out a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt, handing them to her. She took them, tossing the pants aside, slipping just the t-shirt over her head—it hung loose, sliding down to her thighs, clinging to her curves, her nipples pressing against the fabric, the hem barely covering her ass as she shifted, legs bare, smirking at him. He sighed, shaking his head, walking to his wardrobe to change, stepping over broken wood and plaster.
Inside, he pulled on jeans and a hoodie, asking Eve in his head, 'You okay?'
[I am Functional, but I'll need a few days to replicate more nanobots,] she replied.
"Take it easy," he said, zipping up the hoodie, tugging on boots, heading back out, brushing dust off his sleeves.
Galatea sat on the sofa, legs crossed, one foot dangling, the t-shirt riding up her thigh, showing more skin as she leaned back, arms spread along the cushions. "Aren't you going to offer me a drink?" she said, pouting playful, tilting her head.
He rolled his eyes, crossing his arms, standing in front of her, saying, "Listen, I don't know when my mom's coming back, I want to get this done quick." She grinned, uncrossing her legs, letting them fall open a bit, the t-shirt slipping higher, batting her eyes at him, running a hand through her hair, flirting like he hadn't spoken—she leaned forward, resting her chin in her hand, licking her lips slow, staring at his crotch.
"Enough," he said, voice firm, pausing for a beat, then adding, "I want you to dress up as Supergirl, start being an active hero."
She laughed, loud and sharp, throwing her head back, slapping her thigh, thinking he was joking—her laughter faded as she saw his blank face, no hint of a smile, and she straightened, asking, "Why on earth would I do something like that?"
"Because the Viltrumites are looking for Kara, they'll mistake you for her," he said, keeping his expression steady, hands still crossed.
"You want me to lead the Viltrumites away from that little girl," she said, sneering, leaning back, crossing her arms now, mimicking him, "I don't think so."
"Kara's pregnant, if the Viltrumites find her it's over, she'd be too vulnerable to protect herself, with three Viltrumites she could get taken unless there's at least three people who can fight them, which isn't likely," he said, stepping closer, voice even.
"I don't care," Galatea said, waving a hand, "Let them take her, you don't need her."
He frowned, dropping his arms, "What's your problem with her, she's done nothing to you, you wouldn't even be here if she didn't exist."
She stood, eyes flaring red, stepping toward him, shouting, "She's a foolish little girl who doesn't know the power she has, doesn't know how she wastes it, she's weak, I'm better than her in every way, stronger, faster, more skilled, yet she gets everything, I get nothing!" Her voice rose, fists clenching, "I've fought, killed, bled, while she plays house with you, gets your kids, your life, I'm left scraping by, used, discarded!" She stepped closer, her voice cracking, "You'd have me be a sacrificial pawn for her, no, I refuse, my life has meaning, I exist," her eyes welling up, tears brimming, but she blinked them back, jaw tightening, refusing to let them fall.
He stood silent, watching her, feeling a pang as her face—so like Kara's—twisted with anger and hurt, softening his stance, saying, "I'm sorry, it's not fair what you've gone through, it's not fair to use you as a pawn." He paused, then added, "But this is my child, I have to do everything to keep them safe, I hope you can understand that." He took a breath, continuing, "I still want to make the deal, you can ask for anything in return."
She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, sniffing, saying, "Anything?"
He nodded.
Her mood flipped, a smile spreading fast, eyes glinting as she stepped closer—he frowned, thinking, 'Was she faking that?' She walked up, pressing her body against his, running a finger down his chest, saying, "Good, I want you, I get a piece of you, just like that little brat does."
He stayed silent for a moment, then said, "I'm marrying Kara, nothing you do will change that."
She rolled her eyes, "You'll get tired of her, I'm sure, once you have more of this," trailing her hand lower, brushing his groin.
He rolled his eyes back, "So we have a deal?"
"I'll be your little scapegoat," she said, dragging a finger across his jaw, stepping so close her breath hit his lips, "But I get you, fully, no half-assed every-other-weekend crap."
"Deal," he said, voice flat.
She smiled, leaning in, kissing him—her lips pressed hard, soft and warm, parting quick, her tongue slipping in, tasting him, sliding over his, her hands grabbing his face, pulling him deeper, spit mixing as she sucked his bottom lip, biting it light before pressing harder, her body molding to his. Keys jingled outside the door, metal clinking loud—he pulled back, muttering, "Shit," grabbing her arm, saying, "Let's go."
"Why, don't you want to introduce me to your mother?" she asked, smirking, planting her feet.
"Get out," he said, yanking her toward the hole in the wall they'd made earlier, flying them both out, sand and dust swirling as they shot into the air.
He heard his mom step inside, her voice sharp, "What the fuck?" echoing through the apartment—he winced, muttering to himself, "Sorry, Mom, I'll pay for it," banking upward, climbing higher over the city lights.
They floated above Gotham, wind tugging at his hoodie, her t-shirt flapping against her thighs—he turned to Galatea, saying, "Take me to Harley."
She giggled, "Be careful what you wish for," then flew off, heading toward her penthouse, him following close, buildings blurring below as they cut through the night. Mark flew alongside Galatea, wind whipping past as they cut through Gotham's night sky, his hoodie flapping, her t-shirt fluttering against her thighs, city lights streaking below—he tilted his head, asking, "How's Harley doing?"
She glanced over, smirking, "She's not happy, will probably try to kill you or fuck you when she sees you."
"Both, knowing Harley," he said, keeping his eyes forward, voice flat.
He shifted closer, asking, "What about my daughter, what do you know?"
Galatea shrugged mid-flight, "Lucy's a few months old, black hair, blue eyes, loud as hell, haughty too, struts around like she owns the place, just like her mom—screams her head off when she doesn't get her way, kept me up half the night last time I was there."
He nodded, staying silent, thinking it over—Lucy being his kid hit hard, guilt gnawing at him for not knowing Harley was pregnant, for dodging her all this time, leaving her to deal with it alone while he played house with Kara and Raven, selfish as hell now that he saw it clear. He clenched his jaw, staring at the skyline, picturing a tiny version of Harley with his eyes, yelling her lungs out, and felt his chest tighten, knowing he'd fucked up bad by not being there.
They banked toward a high-rise, landing on the penthouse balcony, glass doors reflecting the city glow—his boots touched down, sand crunching under them, Galatea landing beside him, her bare feet slapping the concrete. He stood still, staring through the glass, seeing shadows move inside, hearing muffled voices, his gut twisting as he considered flying off, ditching this mess, leaving Harley and Lucy behind again—but he squared his shoulders, muttering, "Man up," stepping forward, sliding the door open, walking in.
Galatea followed, t-shirt swaying as she crossed her arms, watching him—he stopped just inside, scanning the room, taking a breath, ready for whatever Harley'd throw at him, knowing he deserved it.
___________________________
Vixen sprinted through a narrow alleyway in New York, boots pounding the wet pavement, Static Shock running beside her, electricity crackling around his fists, Blue Beetle bringing up the rear, his scarab armor humming as they bolted from the Viltrumites chasing them—Nolan, Anissa, and Lucan flew straight through buildings, concrete exploding around them, not bothering to swerve. Static Shock twisted, firing a bolt of lightning backward, the blast arcing through the air, hitting Nolan square in the chest—he kept coming, unfazed, as Blue Beetle raised his arm, launching a plasma cannon shot, the beam searing past Anissa, singeing her cape, but she didn't slow either.
They ran hard, weaving through alleys, leaping over trash cans, ducking under fire escapes—Vixen vaulted a dumpster, Static Shock slid across a puddle, Blue Beetle jumped, boosters flaring to clear a chain-link fence. The Viltrumites stayed close, smashing through walls, sending bricks raining down—they turned a corner, feet splashing, breath ragged, herded toward an abandoned warehouse, its rusted doors hanging open. Vixen burst inside first, skidding on the dusty floor, Static Shock and Blue Beetle stumbling in after her, the Viltrumites landing outside, stepping through the entrance, cracking the concrete under their boots.
Vixen clenched her fists, channeling the elephant's power, charging Lucan, lowering her shoulder—she slammed into him, the impact shaking the warehouse, dust falling from the rafters, but he swung his hand, backslapping her across the face, her neck snapping sideways with a loud crack, body crumpling to the floor, limp and still. Static Shock yelled, "Nooo!" lunging forward, throwing both hands out, unleashing a surge of electricity—Lucan grabbed his arms mid-attack, twisting hard, bones snapping, then tore them off, blood spraying as Static screamed, staggering back—Lucan kicked his chest, caving it in, ribs shattering, sending him crashing into a stack of crates, wood splintering as he hit the ground, gasping, blood pooling under him.
Blue Beetle stood alone, the three Viltrumites closing in, Nolan stepping forward, crossing his arms, saying, "Will you answer my questions now?"
Blue Beetle raised his fists, shouting, "Fuck you," activating the scarab's full power—blades extended from his arms, plasma cannons charging, he swung at Nolan, slicing his shoulder, drawing blood, then fired a blast at Anissa, knocking her back a step. He spun, kicking Lucan in the chest, boosting the hit with thrusters, sending him sliding across the floor—he charged Nolan again, swinging fast, landing a punch to his jaw, cracking it, then blasted him with both cannons, forcing him back—but Nolan roared, punching upward, launching Blue Beetle into the sky, piercing the warehouse roof, metal tearing.
Anissa flew up, catching him mid-air, slamming him back down, cratering the floor—Lucan streaked in, dropping both feet into his stomach, armor buckling, blood spurting from his mouth as he gasped, sprawled in the rubble. Nolan walked over, grabbing his chest, ripping the helmet off, revealing Jaime's bruised face, blood trickling from his nose, and said, "Where is Supergirl?"
Jaime coughed, voice low, strangled, "Fuck you."
Nolan growled, tightening his grip, saying, "It's useless to resist, your planet's already ours," squeezing harder, bones creaking—Jaime's neck snapped, head lolling, eyes blank, and Nolan tossed the body aside, skidding across the floor, crashing into a wall, dust settling around it.
Anissa stepped up, wiping blood from her hands, asking, "What now, that's the tenth one who hasn't answered?"
Nolan stood silent, arms crossed, staring at the body.
"Nolan, we don't have much time, we need to get back to the front lines," she said, shifting her weight.
"Quiet," he replied, voice sharp.
Lucan kicked a crate, splintering it, complaining, "Why don't we just tear the planet apart, draw her out?"
Anissa turned, shaking her head, "That'll waste time, scatter their forces, make it harder to pin her down."
Nolan uncrossed his arms, saying, "I agree with Lucan, start ravaging cities across the globe, draw out their heroes, it'll leave the girl unprotected."
Lucan grinned, cracking his knuckles, saying, "Finally, some fun," launching out of the warehouse, roof buckling as he shot into the sky, disappearing over the skyline.
Anissa crossed her arms, asking, "Is that wise?"
"Maybe not," Nolan said, stepping toward the hole Lucan left, "But it's the quickest route to what we want."
"What about Mark?" she said, following him.
"What about him?" he replied, stopping, turning his head.
"He's strong, those human powers make him dangerous, even with the three of us, he could put up a fight before we take him down," she said, stepping closer.
"What's your point?" he asked, facing her fully.
"The Justice League has heroes who can stand against us, add Mark to that, our odds aren't high," she said, voice steady.
He crossed his arms again, "Sounds like you're scared."
She sneered, "I'm being realistic, you lost to Mark."
"Because I underestimated him," he said, jaw tightening.
"You're doing it again," she replied, staring him down.
He stayed silent for a minute, then said, "We'll use the one we captured."
She frowned, "We agreed he'd be a weapon against the Lanterns."
"We'll collect him after, but for now, he'll distract Mark," he said, turning away, walking toward the warehouse exit.
She followed, boots crunching on debris, and they flew up together, breaking through the roof, soaring into space, leaving the wrecked warehouse behind, bodies scattered in the dust below.
___________________________
Mark stepped through the balcony door into Galatea's penthouse, boots crunching on glass from their earlier crash, Galatea following close, her bare feet slapping the polished hardwood—the place screamed luxury, floor-to-ceiling windows showing Gotham's skyline, plush leather sofas sprawled across an open living area, a marble staircase curving up to a loft, crystal chandeliers glinting overhead, a bar stocked with bottles lining one wall, everything sleek and expensive. She waved a hand, saying, "Make yourself at home," kicking the door shut behind her, the t-shirt swishing around her thighs.
He walked further in, scanning the room, running a hand over a velvet chair, asking, "How'd you afford this?"
She laughed, sharp and loud, brushing past him without answering, heading toward the main living area—he followed, stepping into a wide space with a massive TV mounted on the wall, plush rugs underfoot, and an open kitchen where a half-naked girl stood, wearing just a black bra and panties, rummaging through the fridge. Galatea stopped, hands on her hips, saying, "Cass, what are you doing?"
The girl turned, signing with quick hands, 'Hungry,' then froze, spotting Mark—her eyes widened, dark hair falling over her shoulders as she stepped closer, barefoot on the tile. He stood awkward, hands in his pockets, saying, "You're the girl from the underground auction, how've you been?" She didn't reply, walking up, staring at his face, reaching out, touching his chest, fingers tracing his hoodie—she slid her hand down, brushing his stomach, then grabbed his cock through his jeans, squeezing hard. He yelped, "Hey!" stepping back, but she just stared, blank-faced, then turned, walking out, disappearing down a hall.
Galatea raised an eyebrow, asking, "What was that about?"
He rubbed his neck, saying, "I had sex with her a year ago, wasn't in my right mind, Viltrumite drive to mate kicked in, couldn't control it."
She stepped close, sliding her hand down his chest, stroking his cock through the fabric, asking, "Is it triggering now?" He hardened under her grip, leaning in to kiss her—lips brushing hers, her breath hot—when the door slammed open, wood banging against the wall, Harley storming out, fury twisting her face, gun in her hand, shouting, "Mark Grayson, ya son of a bitch!" She raised it, firing fast, bullets popping off, hitting his chest, bouncing off, clattering to the floor.
He opened his mouth, "Harley—" but she cut him off, yelling, "Ya fuckin' prick, leavin' me knocked up, ya bastard, I oughta skin ya alive!" unloading the clip, bullets pinging uselessly—Galatea strolled to the kitchen, grabbing a shaker, pouring vodka and ice, mixing a cocktail, laughing, "Told you so," sipping it casual as Harley kept cursing. Sam stepped out from the hall, holding Lucy in her arms, black hair sticking up, blue eyes wide, Cass trailing behind, watching silent.
Harley ran out of ammo, chucking the gun at his head—he ducked, it sailed past, cracking against the wall—she grabbed a vase off a table, hurling it, then a lamp, shouting, "Ya piece of shit, ya left me!" He raised his hands, "Harley, listen—" but she threw a coaster, then a remote, Sam stepping in, grabbing her arm, saying, "Calm down," Harley shoving her off, yelling, "Everybody get out, I wanna talk to this asshole alone!"
Sam hesitated, glancing at Cass, then nodded, carrying Lucy toward the bedroom—Cass followed, shutting the door. Harley glared at Galatea, still leaning on the counter, drink in hand. "What, it's not like I couldn't hear ya anyway," Galatea said, chuckling.
"Out," Mark said, pointing at the balcony.
She rolled her eyes, downing the drink, walking out, stepping off the edge, flying away—he turned back, facing Harley, silence settling heavy, awkward as hell. He looked at her, barefaced, no makeup, tight vest slipping off one shoulder, showing her bra strap, underwear hugging her hips, legs toned, stomach flat despite the baby, tattoos curling up her arms, hair messy in a bun—she stood there, hands on her hips, staring him down.
He shifted, saying, "You look good," voice stiff.
She didn't reply, keeping her hands planted, eyes narrowing—he saw them glisten, her voice shaking, asking, "Where ya been, huh?"
He sighed, rubbing his face, saying, "After I killed the Joker, I was half-dead, some people found me, took me in, I spent a long time in a place called Bayview, no memories, didn't know who I was."
"Ya lost ya memory?" she said, eyebrow lifting, skeptical.
He nodded, "I'll cut it short, bad stuff happened, only got them back recently."
He paused, stepping closer, "I didn't forget you, but I thought it'd be easier to let you go."
She crossed her arms, frowning hard, hiding the tears welling up, lip quivering—he kept going, "Not cause I don't like you, Harley, I do, really like you, but in Bayview I got married, things got complicated, I thought this was simpler."
He took another step, "I never would've decided that if I'd known you were pregnant, didn't know about Lucy, I'd have been here."
She shoved him back, hands slamming his chest, shouting, "Ya a user, Mark, used me like Mr. J, fucked me and ditched me, gonna leave me again!"
He grabbed her wrists, gentle but firm, saying, "I'm sorry, I'm not leaving, I promise."
She stared up, lip trembling, then gave in, lunging forward, hugging him tight, crying into his chest—tears soaked his hoodie, her voice breaking, blubbering, "I was so happy when I found out I was pregnant, thought ya'd come back, but months went by, ya didn't, I got scared, raisin' her alone, I'm crazy, broken, didn't want Lucy turnin' out like me, thought with ya, someone normal, she'd have a chance."
He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close, rubbing her back, saying, "You're not broken, you're strong, you've done amazing with her." He tilted her chin up, wiping her tears, "We're family, I'm not leaving again."
She sniffed, managing a smirk, "Ya still owe me a year of child support, ya jerk."
He chuckled, "That won't be a problem."
She leaned up, kissing him—her lips pressed soft, salty from tears, parting slow, tongue brushing his, hands sliding to his neck, pulling him down as he kissed her back, her lips pressing firm against his, hands gripping his neck—she pulled back, breathing quick, saying, "I ain't lettin' ya outta my sight again, Marky, every time I do, ya come back lookin' like chopped liver."
He started, "It's not on purpose," but she cut in, rolling her eyes, "Yeah, yeah, save it, ya knocked me up, buddy, you're stuck with me now," diving back in, kissing him hard, tongue pushing past his lips, tasting him, pulling him tight. He kissed her back, matching her pace, then eased off, wiping his mouth, saying, "I've got a wife already, Harley, and soon another one."
"Don't give a rat's ass," she said, sliding her hands down his chest, grabbing his cock through his jeans, giving it a squeeze, "You got plenty to share, big guy."
He raised an eyebrow, asking, "You really okay with that?"
She grinned wide, "Hell yeah, long as they're hot, though—can't rub one out to ugly chicks."
"Rub one out?" he said, tilting his head.
"Yeah, watchin' ya plow 'em, what else?" she said, letting out a loud cackle, leaning in close, breath hot on his ear, whispering, "Got soaked seein' ya bang Cass and Killer Frost that night."
She pressed tighter, saying, "Cass been itchin' for another go, I could pin her down, let ya rail her," laughing sharp, smacking his chest.
He stiffened under her hand, cock twitching, but shook his head, stepping back, "No way," adjusting his jeans.
She smirked, pointing at the bulge, "Oh, come on, ya stiffy's singin' a different tune, ya big tease."
He sighed, rubbing his face, saying, "Just don't pull this shit when you meet my wife."
"Meet her?" she said, squinting, stepping back a bit.
"Yeah," he said, crossing his arms, "Told you we're family, means you're coming with me, we're all living together."
She stopped dead, jaw dropping, then launched at him, arms wrapping tight, nearly toppling him—she kissed his face fast, lips hitting his cheeks, nose, forehead, saying, "No fuckin' way, thought I'd be the side piece, ya know, the secret fam?" She hugged him harder, burying her face in his chest, then jerked back, blurting, "I love ya, Mark," voice cracking as it spilled out.
They both froze, air turning thick—her eyes popped wide, shock hitting her like a truck, she jammed a finger against his lips, saying, "Don't say a damn thing, pretend that didn't happen," shaking her head fast, hands shaky.
He stayed quiet, nodding once, letting it slide—they stood up, brushing off the tension, him shifting his stance, asking, "Can I see Lucy now?"
Her face brightened, awkwardness melting, smiling big, darting to the bedroom, feet slapping the floor—she came back, holding Lucy, cooing soft, "Hey, baby girl, look who's here, ya daddy!" Lucy babbled, "Gah ba ba," kicking her legs, black hair sticking up, blue eyes blinking at him.
He stepped forward, taking her from Harley's arms, lifting her careful, holding her close—love slammed into him, chest squeezing as he met her gaze, her tiny hands tugging his hoodie. She grinned, toothless and sloppy, giggling—he rocked her, saying, "Daddy loves you, I'm gonna keep you safe, always," voice steady, low, pressing her against his chest, feeling her little heartbeat, her breath puffing warm on his neck.
Harley slid next to him, slipping an arm around his waist, hugging his side, resting her cheek on his shoulder—he kept rocking Lucy, glancing at Harley, her vest sagging off her shoulder, skin brushing his arm, her hand gripping his hip. He looked back at Lucy, smiling wider, kissing her forehead, saying, "You, me, Mommy, we're a family now," feeling Harley's hold tighten, her breath catching as she pressed closer, the three of them locked together.
(AN: So the reunion is finally here. May be a bit rushed but ya know me I don't like emotional stuff especially when I just can't relate. Like honestly does anyone ever have emotional moments like this? Idk. Anyway sex and action that's me. That's what I love. Anyway I hope you enjoyed the chapter.)
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