Chapter Text
Tula of Poseidonis was highly skilled in many things. A member of the Queen’s personal guard, her battle magic was unparalleled in its power amongst her generation. She was a scholar, a natural teacher, and excelled in the use of trident and spear. Mid-range combat was her domain, and she the empress.
Close quarters hand-to-hand, on land, was less her speed. Which is why it was surprising when she managed to land a kick to her partner’s jaw, sending him flying across The Cave’s training room and into a stack of mats.
Kaldur, for all that his magic itself left much to be desired, was possibly the best close quarters fighter Atlantis had ever produced. Which is why on a normal day, Tula would be the one flying into the furniture.
Something was off with her friend.
Tula approached the slumped figure of the Team’s long-time leader, reaching down to offer him a hand. “Are you alright?”
Kaldur grunted, waving her off while flinging an arm over his eyes, sprawling out amongst the mats like a limp starfish. Tula rested her hands on her hips, waiting for him to gather himself.
Five minutes ticked quietly by.
Tula frowned, kicking Kaldur’s shin gently. Green eyes peeked out from under his slack arm, squinting peevishly.
Tula crossed her arms, arching a red brow. “You’re moping.”
Kaldur sighed, openly rolling his eyes in a rare show of irritation. Tula smirked, reaching out to clasp an expectantly outstretched hand. She held tight, hauling him easily to his feet. Kaldur slumped into her as he stood, dropping his sharp chin to rest atop her head. His deep sigh ruffled the short strands of her red hair. “I...am tired.”
Tula wrapped her arms around his narrow waist, reaching up to pat one broad shoulder. “My dearest, poor Atlas. Is the weight of the world finally getting to you?”
Kaldur shook his head, the motion rocking their bodies gently. “No. The team is doing fine. Our missions have all succeeded as of late, and our new members have adapted quickly.”
Tula nodded absently, pale face pushed pleasantly into her oldest friend’s chest. “So it’s a personal reason.”
Silence.
Tula sighed. The stubbornness of men.
She pulled back, reaching up to tweak Kaldur’s nose sharply. Kaldur reared back, blinking rapidly. Tula was not a weak person—her pinches stung. “You aren’t allowed to mope like a heroine in a tawdry romance and then not talk about it, you guppie.”
Kaldur colored, red glowing under the deep brown of his skin. “Tawdry?”
Tula’s stern expression broke, blue eyes shining as she chuckled helplessly, smacking Kaldur on the chest. “My apologies. You’re right—you’re a classy lovesick heroine.”
Kaldur returned her grin with a small smile, tension visibly melting from his shoulders. “I would thank you, but I have seen what you and Garth regard as ‘classy’. As of yet, I’ve been able to resist draping myself across any coral formations.”
Tula snorted. “You’re right. You’d use a couch—You’re practically a surface dweller these days as it is,” she joked. “You do know that being on the team doesn’t mean you’re exiled, yes?”
Kaldur blanched, spine stiffening under her arms. “I—“
Tula cut him off, laying a hand firmly across his mouth. “No,” she insisted, guilt rolling in her gut. So typical—she works and works to get him to loosen up, act like his age for five minutes and when she succeeds she undercuts it immediately. “My apologies. I didn’t mean that—we know that you’re trying.”
Kaldur removed her hand gently, eyes casting off to the side. “I could try harder,” he insisted, monotone. “I have been...distracted.”
A scene from that morning flashed through Tula’s mind. Kaldur, shoulders hunched over his phone, expression tight with worry. The way the Dick and M’gann had immediately broken off their conversation when Kaldur joined them in the kitchen. “Red Arrow, right?” Kaldur’s eyes widened, panicked, and Tula rushed to clarify. “I mean, he’s not taking your calls. He’s in danger?”
Kaldur’s expression relaxed, incongruous with the way his hands tightened into brief fists against the small of her back. “He puts himself in danger,” he said, brows dipping into his customary frown. “And refuses to be persuaded away from it.”
Tula reached up, smoothing away the wrinkles between his eyebrows. He was going to have permanent ones before he was thirty if he wasn’t careful. She and Garth would look a decade his junior, despite both being older than him by a year.
“Red Arrow is a very competent operative,” she said slowly. “And none of us are the kind to shy from danger. He’s hunting his...original, yes?”
Kaldur sighed, catching her hand gently in his own and drawing it down about their waists. He looked down at his hand gently cradling her own. “It is not the hunt itself that troubles me,” he admitted. “But rather his choice of partner.”
“So, persuaded away from danger, or persuaded away from someone dangerous to him?”
Kaldur grimaced. “She doesn’t appear to be a threat to him.”
Tula nodded, the pieces coming together before her, a mosaic of unspoken truths, bound together into a coherent whole only by the fact that she had known Kaldur for a very, very long time. “But she’s a threat to you.”
Kaldur pulled away, turning to pick up his discarded weapons. She didn’t have to see his face to know the comment stung him. She could see it in the miserably straight line of his shoulders, the robotic economy of his movements as he tried to escape. “I’ve held my own against her before.”
Tula reached out, hand gentle but firm on his wrist as he stepped towards the hallway. “In combat. But that’s not the kind of fight you’re worried about losing.”
Kaldur froze, resolutely facing the door.
“You care for him,” Tula insisted. Kaldur had not spoken of it, but Tula had learned to see the signs. “You can’t assume you’ve lost if you haven’t even told him.”
To Kaldur’s credit, he didn’t attempt to deny it. “It would be pointless. I’m tired of fighting battles I can’t win.”
Tula’s grip tightened briefly, admonishing. “It's not a battle, Kaldur. It’s a choice—his choice, and you aren’t even giving him a chance to make it.”
“Tula, please. Let it lie.”
Tula’s brow furrowed, frustration building hot and bitter in the back of her throat. “You dedicate your entire life to fighting for others, but you won’t even lift one finger to fight for yourself.”
Kaldur’s shoulders hunched, arm tugging sharply to escape her grip. She held on tighter, stubbornly refusing to move until he at least faced her. “Because that’s ever gone well for me,” he finally spat, shoulders hunching high around his ears.
Tula bit down sharply on her tongue, hesitating. She could feel they were approaching a dangerous precipice. But her friend was in pain, all of it self-inflicted, and she refused to let him suffer anymore under the weight of his own ridiculous self-expectations. “I will not apologize that my feelings did not match your own,” she said carefully. They had never spoken of his confession, nor her subsequent rejection. “But it is illogical to assume that my refusal presupposes the refusal of another. I am not Roy, Kaldur. Roy is not me.”
Kaldur stiffened. “Do,” he said softly. “Not did.” He took a deep breath, arm trembling under the tight grip of her fingers. Gently, he pulled away from her, large hand warm against her own as he pried it from his wrist. He still faced away.
“Cheshire’s involvement is not the only reason I have not confessed to Roy,” he said softly. He began walking away, retreating down the hallway.
Tula remained, tongue lead in her mouth.
Kaldur paused at the door, turning to look at her over his shoulder. His eyes were very green. “He has convinced himself that nothing he’s ever had is his own,” he said. There was nothing of the accuser in his tone. Only sad, quiet gentleness, like a breeze across an ocean cliff side. “He deserves more than a rented life. I will not injure him further by offering him only half a heart.”
I’m sorry, Tula didn’t say. Kaldur turned and walked away, footfalls steady and strangely final. I never wanted this for you.
I wish you didn’t.
You deserve more, too.
She didn’t say them because she knew they wouldn’t matter. Her friend, her Kaldur, had never been anything less than the most stubborn person she knew. Given who her family was, it was impressive.
There were are other words she could have spoken to his retreating back. Ones that were less kind.
Your misery is your own fault. You have to trust people before they can love you. You’re the one who keeps us out.
You’ll die like this, alone, if you don’t learn to let people make their own choices about how much they care for you.
One rejected crush, and you’re going to let it run your life forever? Coward.
She didn’t say those either.
Kindness or cruelty, she didn’t speak any of them. Kaldur was her closest friend, and she had no desire to drive a further wedge between them by telling him the things he didn’t want to hear. Maybe that made her selfish, or even a bad friend.
But she was one of the only ones he had, and she refused to do anything to jeopardize that. So she held her tongue, and let him walk away.