Chapter Text
Floyd didn't know it at the time, but his first indication that something was seriously wrong was when he only got four letters from his daughter instead of the usual seven. He chalked it up to the guards going back to being active assholes instead of the nice, passive assholes he'd been assigned after Midway and made life for them as painfully irritating as possible, safe in the knowledge that he'd get ten letters the following Saturday.
No letters came that week.
That's when he lost his shit.
Tasering him didn't work. Starving him, beating him, depriving him of sleep didn't shut him up. He brought the roof down, tore apart anybody who came near him, made more noise than Harkness on a bad day, yelling for that double-crosser Waller, and that shit-for-brains Flag, until finally, finally, something happened.
He was in the middle of verbally tearing through the guard on the other side of his door when the hatch slid open with a sharp click. Flag himself was on the other side, frowning.
"Well," said Floyd, leaning in with both hands on his door. "How nice of you to drop by. Where the fuck have you been? We had a deal, Flag, I get my letters, I get my calls -"
"Lawton, what the hell are you on about?" interrupted Flag. "You've been getting your letters."
Floyd nearly spat through the hole in the door. "Like hell. Like hell, you've gotta be kiddin' me, I've been double-crossed, you tell your boss -"
"Lawton," Flag interrupted him again, sharply, and oh boy did Floyd feel like punching him in that all-American pretty boy face of his. "You've been getting every damn letter that's been picked up by the mail room. I've checked all the slots myself, there's been nothing in the PO Box. Nothing signed off on, no deliveries, no letters, no double-crossing. Can't deliver letters that don't exist."
Floyd just stared at the other man. "You tellin' me my baby girl - who writes fuckin' religiously, every damn day - you tellin' me that all of a sudden she's stopped writing me letters? Just like that? Nah - nah, you foolin'. There's no way."
His stomach boiled when he caught a trace of sympathy flicker in Flag's face; it made him punch the door, which in turn made the other man let loose a rough sigh.
"Kids are busy," Flag tried. "She's in her new school, making friends, taking classes. Life on the outside - that eats up time."
Floyd punched the door again, letting the noise resound around the room as he jabbed a furious finger at Flag.
"You listen here, soldier boy," he snarled. "My baby sends me a letter every. Goddamn. DAY. Last week I got four letters, this week I got none. You telling me that's normal? You telling me that my sweet girl all of a sudden stopped sending letters for ten straight days? Ten? Ten? I don't fuckin' think so."
"What are you trying to say, Lawton?" asked Flag, in an undertone. But he was taking Floyd seriously; there was uncertainty in those eyes, concern in the deepening frown on his face.
"I'm saying you've met my girl," said Floyd. "I'm saying that you've met my Zoe. You know the kinda girl she is - she ain't nothin' like me. If there was dictionary of opposites we'd have a nice family photo for the Christmas card. So you think it's all peaches and fuckin' cream, that she hasn't sent me any letters for ten. Goddamn. Days?"
Flag didn't answer. His eyes flicked down and away, his frown became etched like charcoal into his face, the harsh light from the prison bulbs carving him up like stone.
"I'll look into it," was all he said, and then the hatch slid shut again, just as sharply as when it had opened. Floyd stared at it for a few moments, speechless.
"Oh, you'll look into it," he said to the door, spreading his arms, antagonising the no-longer present Colonel. "Well. You'll look into it, you'll look into it. Well, that's good, that's fucking great, you'll look into it, that's nice. Fuck you, Flag! Fuck you!"
Four more days passed. Twice his guards swarmed his cell and sedated him, heavily; he spent those days in a heavy daze of drug-induced dreaming, bad crash following bad crash. The walls melted, the floors dropped away, his skin was filled with acid, his baby was stuck somewhere and he couldn't reach her, just knew she was in trouble and he was on the wrong side of a cell door, near-insensate on the concrete floor.
Then, after who knew how long stuck at the end of another drug-dream, Floyd's chest rippled with an arctic chill, and his nose and mouth filled with the scent of fresh earth, wet from rain. His aches and pains were chased away, his mind cleared, his mouth and lips healed from the cracks and dryness of forced dehydration. His head though - his head still swam and swam like he was underwater, and he shook himself, hard, trying to scramble to his feet, trying to get his bearings.
A thin hand clasped his shoulder, bony and much stronger than it looked. Floyd's vision cleared at last; his stomach settled and the taste of earth disappeared, the chill leaving him. That said though, he might still have been hallucinating, still drugged up, because what he found himself looking at made no sense at all.
It was June Moon, Flag's little girlfriend, and his Squad's former target. She looked as unhealthily thin as she did the last time Floyd had seen her, although now she was dressed in regular clothing and wasn't covered in mud.
"What the fuck," he said, because after the couple of weeks he'd been having, 'hello' had basically been scourged from his vocabulary.
Moon swallowed, moving away from him and folding her arms against her body. But her eyes - they were made of steel. Floyd knew that look, he'd seen it in the mirror sometimes, before a hit that he wasn't sure he could make, but damn if he had to make it anyway. The little woman wanted something, and she was ready to make hell on anybody who told her no. All the good that determination would do her, though, since Floyd was a great deal stronger than her, not to mention -
"Wait," he said, and looked around. The lights were off, but he could see perfectly; the room was filled with untraceable brightness. The cell door was wide open; he strode over to it and walked straight outside. Not a guard in sight. All the bulbs down the hall hummed noisily like they were working just fine, but none of them were emitting any light. In fact, the whole place seemed to be greyed-out, like an old photograph or illustration. Something kept flickering in the corner of his eye and he turned sharply to catch the movement, only to find Moon directly behind him, as pale as copy paper, staring at him with dark, dark eyes. Behind her, the hall was all shadow, and the shadows were moving.
"What the fuck," he said.
"I need your help," said Moon, and there was a faint bell-like quality to her voice; it rang faintly in his ears, like they were talking in a big echoing dome instead of a narrow concrete hallway.
"You need my help," he repeated dumbly, staring at her. "You need my help. What the fuck - what the fuck -"
"Rick is missing," she interjected. "He's been missing since he left for Gotham four days ago, after his meeting with you. He went to find your daughter."
Floyd's throat dried out, his ribcage constricted. Zoe, Zoe, the only good thing he'd ever contributed to this shithole of a world, his baby girl, the sole thing that kept his jaded heart beating most days. And when Flag had said he'd look into it, he'd really looked into it. Flag had gone to see if Zoe was all right. Because Floyd asked. Because he'd believed Floyd, when Floyd had told him that something was wrong.
If Flag was with Zoe, then Zoe was gonna be okay. Never mind that the idiot could barely protect himself back in Midway with the number of times he'd nearly been kidnapped; Flag was a soldier and a soft heart. Nothing was gonna happen to Zoe. Except that the letters had stopped for ten days before he'd even realised anything was wrong. And now Rick Flag, mister all-American, was missing. In Gotham.
"Then what the fuck are we waiting for?" he said. "Suicide Squad rides again."
~~~~~
They went to Croc next. Floyd almost thought the reptile man was sleeping, what with the deep, deep growls coming through from behind the bars, but then Croc stepped heavily towards them, slowly blinking with those creepy double-eyelids as he examined the two of them.
"If it a prison break, count me out," said Croc, looming at them. "I got all I need in here."
Floyd just nodded amiably, like he totally understood the attraction the guy had to the stinking dark hole filled with rotten bones, widescreen and BET aside.
"A'right, a'right, that's fine," he said. "It's not a prison break, Killer, just temporary bail. Flag's missing, in Gotham -"
Floyd nearly jumped back when Croc growled, low, dangerous, and guttural. The reptilian teeth, stunted, sharp, and shiny yellow, bared at them from between the bars.
"I ain't goin' back there," said Croc. "I ain't goin' back to Gotham. They monsters in Gotham."
Floyd stared. What the hell could Killer Croc be afraid of?
"Croc, they monsters everywhere," he said, finally. "That's why we're in prison."
Croc just grunted, moving away from the bars, slipping back into the darkness.
"Naw, Lawton," he said, voice echoing faintly. He was now completely invisible, deep inside the cell. "The real monsters are out there. 'S why I'm in prison, 's why I stay where I belong. 'S why you should, too - ain't that right, shawty?"
Floyd didn't give Moon a chance to answer; he grabbed the bars of the cell door and rattled them angrily.
"Goddammit, Croc, my baby girl's in Gotham!" he snapped. "Something went wrong two weeks ago - Flag said he'd look into it and now he's gone, too!"
Croc didn't reply. Moon sighed - the hairs rose up on the back of Floyd's neck as he watched her skin grow even paler, her tiny veins beginning to blush black.
"We don't have time," she said, and the voice didn't quite belong to her. Floyd jumped back now, trying to put some distance between her and his extremely vulnerable frame.
"What the hell!" he snapped. "I thought we killed you! I saw it, I saw your heart -"
The eyes that turned to him were definitely human - there was too much fear and sadness in them to belong to anything else. Floyd stopped up short; suddenly she looked like the little frail woman Flag had picked up from beneath the cracked mud, shaken and hollow after the possession had been ripped from her. Except the veins were darkening still, and the shadows rippled around her, along with a faint, faint breeze that smelled of fresh earth.
"Enchantress is dead," she said. "But her powers came from something else, and they haven't - they haven't gone away -"
Floyd didn't even know where to start with that crazy. Where was he even supposed to start -
"Okay, okay...let me get this straight -" He pointed a finger at her. "Enchantress is dead, her power is still around. Whatever is left of her is - it's in you. So...like, you're a witch or something now? Just...that's just how it is with you now? Magic powers?"
Moon's arms folded around her again. "I didn't want it to be like this," she said, half-defensively. "I thought - everything was back to normal. Waller had a bunch of tests done, there was no trace of the energy. I don't even have the meta-human gene, I don't know why I'm like this, I just am."
"And when the hell did all -" He waved his hands vaguely. "This happen?"
His blood ran cold when she answered.
"About two weeks ago," she explained tiredly. "I started dreaming again. I don't remember the dreams, but the magic - the changes - started happening. I don't really know what I'm doing, but it's like...instinct. Like breathing. The magic wants to be used; it's alive, it, it has a heartbeat or something. It wasn't like with the Enchantress - I was making things grow, not decay. I could build as well as destroy. But - but these last few days -"
"Flag's gone," said Floyd. It was like his hindbrain was connecting dots, but the dots weren't just in another language - they were fucking invisible too. He must have hit his mark as usual though, since Moon - aka Enchantress Mk II - nodded sadly.
"I know I have to be the one to control it," she said, low. "It's my responsibility. I let the witch out, I was watching when she destroyed Midway. But Rick...he's so calm. It makes things easier, to have someone that doesn't treat you like...like a freak. Even with the powers getting stronger, I felt like a person with him, instead of a monster."
She fell silent, and Floyd's brain turned and turned. Two weeks ago. When Zoe's letters had stopped. Now Flag had disappeared in Gotham.
"It's not just a lazy mailman," he said, even though, deep in his gut, he'd always known that. "There's somethin' in Gotham, isn't there. Like, a crazy somethin'. Like Midway."
Moon swallowed, but she nodded after a moment. "I don't know how to explain it. But when Rick disappeared, it was like a compass was pointing towards Gotham, composed of every fibre of my being. Maybe the - powers would have stayed dormant, if whatever it was hadn't come along. But there's magic sleeping in the earth, and someone is trying to do something very, very bad."
Floyd ground his teeth and furiously rubbed the back of his head with both hands. "Why the hell hasn't Waller done anything?" he said, half to himself. "That sounds right up our alley. 'S what she did in Midway, wasn't it? Round us up, send us in. What's different?"
Moon shrugged. "I don't know. But we're running out of time. We need to go tonight - I can send a spell of distraction, but my abilities aren't fine-tuned. Sooner or later someone will notice."
"And how 'bout these things in our neck, huh?" said Floyd, jabbing his thumb at his jugular. "What's stopping Waller from just detonatin' these things once we set foot outside Belle Reve?"
At that question, Moon suddenly shifted, her eyes slipping to the side. She was about to lie, and Floyd didn't have time for that. So he took a couple of steps forward and loomed as best he could, trying to ignore the primeval tremors running up and down his spine as her shadows flickered violently in the corners of her eyes.
"I wanna save my daughter," he said warningly. "You wanna save your boy. So don't waste my time with bullshit, Moon - are you working with Waller?"
"No!" Moon exclaimed, but then she hesitated. "I...I'm not sure."
"The hell -" Floyd stared, incredulous. "How do you not know -"
"It was very ambiguous!" exclaimed Moon quickly, looking chagrined. "I went to her about Rick, about my powers, and she just looked at me and said: 'Too bad you can't teleport, and that visiting hours are over. You might have been able to convince the Squad to help you out. Not that I'd ever sign off on anything like a mission to Gotham.'"
Floyd felt his eyebrows rise. "...that sure as hell sounds like she's signing off on a mission."
"Right?" said Moon, now pressing her hands together. "And then she said, 'I didn't sign off on Flag going either, and it'd be a pity if something happened to my best Colonel. He was a good motivation for the Squad.'"
"Why's she callin' it the Squad?" asked Floyd, frowning. Last time around it was 'Taskforce X' this, 'Taskforce X' that. And she was already talking about Flag in the past tense. Oh, like hell she didn't know what was going on. But - and this was what sent nervous tremors through the bottom of Floyd's gut - whatever it was, even Waller couldn't do anything about it. And Flag clearly had disobeyed orders to go there. To find Zoe.
"Deadshot -" His attention was drawn back to Moon, who had straightened her shoulders but still retained anxiety up and down her body language. She took a deep breath and held his eye as she spoke.
"Something's wrong in Gotham, something that not even Waller can do anything about. Please, please, I - I can't lose Rick. I can't."
"I'm goin' to find Zoe," said Floyd, but he scratched the back of his head, annoyed at the sight of this eldritch-infused skinny white girl in front of him, primeval power at her fingertips but still begging for help. He growled angrily. "But Flag's gonna be where Zoe is. If he knows what's good for him, he'll be where Zoe is. So yeah, I'll help you. But if it comes out I've gotta choose, Moon, you know which one I'm picking. Got that?"
Moon nodded eagerly, her relief evident in the soothing of the shadows that had snuck up around them in jagged chunks. They sunk down from the walls and pooled at her feet, radiating contentment, like a bunch of cats who knew that eventually, with patience, they were gonna get the cream. He couldn't help but grimace at the sight, even knowing there was nothing else he could do about it; he'd sell his own soul for his baby girl and get into bed with any monster.
Speaking of which...
"'Ey, Croc," he called, sauntering back to the man's cell door. The interior exuded darkness, but Croc had to be in there somewhere. Floyd rattled the bars, aiming for some kind of reaction. There was nothing; but then again, why would there be? With a face like that Killer must have been long-used to getting whistled at.
"C'mon, man," he tried instead. "Ain't you got a heart? My baby girl's in Gotham."
This elicited a dark, rumbling chuckle from deep within the cell, followed by heavy footsteps as Croc slowly walked back into the light. Those creepy sharp teeth were bared in an awful smile, and Floyd got the feeling he was being sized up - but not for a fight. Plenty a'protein on him, and he'd make a nice change from goat, wouldn't he?
"I had a heart," he said. "Broke it. Ate it. Buried what was left."
How had Floyd forgotten the cannibalism part of the file? It had swum beneath so many other horrific details of that day, but it hadn't been washed away by time; it lurked beneath the dark surface of his thoughts until it was ready to dart up and make itself known, violently.
"Ain't nothin' in Gotham for me, Lawton," Croc continued. "Gotham made me. Gotham broke me. Now I belong to me, ain't nobody tell me what I am, what I should be."
"I ain't tryin' to do shit, nothing like that," said Floyd. "I'm asking for help, Croc. My little girl's done nothing bad her whole life. She's all I got. Don't you got anythin'? Can't say you don't got anythin', Croc, c'mon."
"Got cable," allowed Croc. Floyd growled.
"Nah, not like that," he snapped. "C'mon, man, even Boomerang's got that weird unicorn thing goin' on. What've you got? What'll make you help me out here?"
Croc stared at Floyd, his eyes narrowing like he was actually considering Floyd's question.
"I ain't got nothin'," he said, finally. "That's all there is now. Nothin'."
It hit Floyd then, like a ton of bricks - Croc really didn't have anything. Because he had had something.
"I'm real sorry to hear that," said Floyd quietly, and he found himself being sincere about it. Floyd knew with every inch of his being that he didn't deserve a kid, let alone somebody as good and sweet as Zoe, but he was wildly selfish beneath the love he had for her. He'd never let her suffer, never stand by and let her walk through life thinking that she was alone, because deep down he knew that this was his only shot. His only chance to be happy, and it was complete accident - there was no god, because god would never have let a man like Floyd Lawton be blessed with an angel like Zoe. And he knew he was running on borrowed time, before she grew up and really understood what it was her daddy did.
Happiness had to be grabbed and held on to tightly, greedily, before it had a chance to slip away. It's neck had to be strung out, and it had to be subdued, to be worked into the shape killers and devils and hitmen needed it to be. Diablo had known that. Hell, even Harley didn't seem like the kind of girl who thought she'd die of old age. They were all running on borrowed time, and for some of them - Diablo, and Croc apparently - it ran out. And Floyd could see the other end of that rainbow; transparent, empty, worthless. Croc had held something in his hands, and now it was gone.
"What was her name?" he asked, suddenly. Croc started, stared, teeth baring. Floyd added hurriedly, "Or his. I ain't judging. 'S free country, man, right? It's all good."
"Aw, shut it," said Croc.
"Is that what you're afraid of, man?" asked Floyd. "Goin' back, and rememberin'?"
Silence met him; angry, narrow-eyed silence. Right on target. Floyd barreled ahead, trying to keep his advantage.
"Look man, Gotham's a shithole, a'right?" he said. "Anybody who lives there knows that, even the one percenters. It's made hell on everyone - you ain't special just 'cause it gave you something and it took it away."
"Ain't you the same?" said Croc. "Cryin' 'cause o'ya baby girl. Gotham's gonna take, Lawton, it gives and it takes back twice as hard."
"Well, that's the beauty of being a hypocrite, Killer," replied Floyd calmly. "I can do and say whatever the hell I want. So I'm telling you - back me up here. And whatever's waiting for you in Gotham, I'll watch your back. You watch mine, I watch yours, same as Midway. We're a team, Croc. Help me out. Don't you wanna take something from that city, for a change?"
Croc growled behind the bars, but after a minute his eyes slid away, over Floyd's shoulder. Moon had moved closer, tentatively, her fingers winding together.
"Will you help us?" she asked quietly. Floyd nearly grinned when Croc did the reptile man equivalent of shuffling his feet, before grudgingly shrugging his shoulders and snorting.
"A'right," he grunted. "A’right. But ya owe me; got that, Lawton?”
"That's good, that's fine!" said Floyd, slapping his hands together and turning to Moon. "What next?"
"Boomerang," said Moon, faintly, and led the way.
~~~~~
There was a banging sound coming from Boomerang's cell. The closer they got, they clearer it got; a rhythmic thumping, like something banging against the door. Floyd recognised it: Boomerang's voice had finally given out. He was tiredly hitting his head against his cell door.
Like with Floyd and Croc, no guards were in sight around Boomerang's front door. The slot was closed and the shadows crept around the edges of the walls, slicking across the door. The knocking paused, and with a loud click, the door unlocked and slowly swung open. Immediately there was a scrambling noise as Boomerang got to his feet, panting as he waited for whoever was out there to rush in and beat him senseless, as the guards had been doing every time his talking got too much for them. Floyd had heard the ruckus all the way down in his super-reinforced cell, not to mention the tidbits he could scrounge from Flag whenever the man did come by.
But there were no guards this time, and Boomerang's opportunism, as it always did, won out over caution. He poked his head around the door, cocky smirk already forming on his face, gold tooth glinting - at which point he saw Moon wreathed in shadows with those weird black veins against paper-white skin, and promptly shrieked like a little baby. Floyd had to give him credit, though - he at least didn't run back into the cell, instead flinging himself out the door and down the hallway.
"Boomerang!" he shouted, but the guy didn't stop. Floyd turned to Moon, his eyebrows raised, and she sighed. There was a yelp from Boomerang and an abrupt smacking noise, followed by frantic whimpering and a scraping noise. Boomerang was being dragged by his legs towards them, Moon obviously using means not visible to the naked eye. Speaking of naked...
"Where the hell did your clothes go, Boomerang?" asked Floyd, grimacing. The guy was only dressed in a pair of boxers, body filthy with dirt and hair overgrown and wild.
"Holy shit," Boomerang blurted, staring at them with wide eyes. "What the bloody -"
"'S a'right, Boomerang, we've got a mission," said Floyd, crossing his arms. The other man blinked confusedly up at them, still prone on the ground.
"A mission?" he repeated. "Ya, right, pull the other one. So how comes I don't see Flag here? Or that nutcase, Waller? I could do with saying a thing or two ta her, no question."
"Talkin's what got you messed up in the first place, Boomerang," said Floyd, snorting. "Nah, it ain't that kinda mission. We're AWOL on this one."
Boomerang immediately perked up, scrambling to his feet. "AWOL?" he exclaimed excitedly. "Now there's a thing or two I know about! Where's me gear?"
Floyd must have looked a bit surprised, because the other man suddenly grinned, flashing his gold tooth and shooting Floyd the biggest shit-eating grin that ever was.
"What? Thought you'd have to convince me? Nah, mate," he said, casually leaning against his cell door as though he wasn't actually next to naked. "I'm not a complicated man. Bit o'brew, some fresh air...happy out."
"...right." Floyd shook his head. "I meant it about the mission, man. My girl's in Gotham -"
"Oh, Gotham!" exclaimed Boomerang. "Far out, I've always wanted to visit properly!"
Floyd stared. "You been to Gotham already?"
"Briefly." Boomerang waved it away. "Anywho, yeah, let's go. Anything to get me out of that fuckin' cell."
It was too easy. So Floyd got up in the other man's space, locking eyes with him and ignoring the rank unwashed scent.
"Let's make this clear," said Floyd. "You don't run. God help me but I need you, we all do. My baby girl's in Gotham and there's somethin' goin' on down there, somethin' bad. I ain't heard from her in over two weeks, and now Flag's gone too. Waller can't act for whatever reason, but she wants us down there, which is the only thing stoppin' her from blowing our heads off when they find us missin'. We get in, rescue Zoe, rescue Flag, get out. And when we get back, you maybe don't waste your favour on mouthing off to the lady who controls life, death, and cell assignments, a'right?"
Boomerang was frowning, but it looked to be more from confusion rather than displeasure.
"Yeah, man, I get it," he said slowly. "But you help me too, yeah?"
Floyd resisted rolling his eyes. "And what is it that you need in Gotham, Boomerang?"
"Huh? Ah, nah, not like that." The other man grinned. "You've got it in with Flag, right? And Flag's got it in with Waller."
"A favour," concluded Floyd. "You want me to put in a good word for you."
Boomerang spread his palms out and shrugged. "Can you blame me?" he said. "I might be stuck in this shithole, but I'd like to see the sun every now and again. Eat some real food, take a walk. Maybe get me some guards who'll talk back for a change."
"The little things, right?" said Floyd sarcastically. Boomerang threw him that grin again, the shit-eating one.
"Mate, I've never done a wrong thing in me life!" he insisted. "I don't deserve this treatment! Saved the world too, didn't I? Right next to you lot. I'm the one that found the heart - eh, speaking of which..."
He leaned to the side, peering around at Moon. The woman still looked pretty mousy - not sure what Flag saw in her, if he was honest, but he wasn't about to judge a man, especially given that Zoe's momma was a hooker. Moon's humanity was slowly being consumed by the shadows, however, and the shadows were growing more lively. Still, it was...different than Enchantress. Instead of motor oil and rot, Moon brought the smell of earth and growth with her, like the ground at night time, after it had been raining all day. Cold, but not in an aggressive way.
"She's fine," decided Floyd. "The metahuman bug bit her, but she's got it under control. We just need to get Flag back."
Boomerang's eyes slowly slid away from Moon; he looked skeptical, but obviously didn't want to waste the brain space on arguing about it.
"Riiight..." he said. "Flag's the objective, or what? I mean, he seems a nice bloke, but if something's going down in Gotham - like, that place is filled with crazies -"
"I'm from Gotham," said Floyd exasperatedly.
"Me too," grunted Croc. Boomerang just spread his hands out and stared at them.
"Case and fuckin' point, mate!" he said. "So if somethin's going down there, you know it's gonna be fuckin' FUBAR, right?"
"We've survived Midway," said Floyd.
"We had a metahuman arsonist who'd found god, mate, that's how we survived," said Boomerang. "Look, I'm all for it, a hundred percent! Rescue Flag, rescue ya lil' girl, be the heroes, get paid - so to speak. But we're talkin' about somethin' so bad that Waller's gotta send her extra special secret covert team...undercover. Whatever it is, it ain't Midway. And we're down a tank, as far as I can tell."
"Then somethin's wrong with your eyesight, Boomerang, 'cause we got her," snapped Floyd, and pointed back at Moon. She started, stepping back a little.
"Oh! No, no..." she said. "I'm not a combatant..."
Boomerang barked out a laugh before Floyd had a chance to rail at her.
"Lady!" Boomerang exclaimed. "You want us to go into a hellhole worse than the one you made in Midway, rescue ya lil' boy, then trot back to prison, neat and tidy? You must be fuckin' kiddin' me!"
"We ain't gonna do your fighting for you," said Floyd, glaring at her. "You want our help, you take part. You ain't Flag, you ain't Waller -"
"I'm not a killer!" she burst out.
"Yes, you are," said Floyd quietly, moving closer to her and holding her gaze. "Now, maybe you ain't like me, and maybe you ain't like Boomerang and maybe you ain't like Croc, but people died 'cause a'you, and that makes you a killer. You can spend the rest of your life running, and frankly I don't care what you do, but I ain't all that interested in helping out somebody who doesn't wanna help me out too."
"We're criminals, love," said Boomerang, coming up behind him. "The only difference between us and you is a concrete wall."
Moon looked stricken, and her shadows followed; but instead of getting more violent, they seemed to be withdrawing into her body, the scent of earth growing stronger. A sound rumbled inside Croc's chest as he watched her, and Floyd just shook his head and crossed his arms.
"Maybe you don't quite understand who it is you're getting into bed with," he said. "But you understand this right now. The only reason I am helping you is because Zoe's in danger. You've got magic powers. We're going to need them. If you want Flag saved, you'll figure out how to use them, and you won't hesitate to use them. Not saying you gotta kill more people, sweetheart - just to know that we're heading into a shitzone, and that decision is coming up. Either way, you pull your weight. Got that?"
There was a tense silence as Moon flicked her eyes between each of them, but then the light shifted, the shadows retreated, and she nodded, silently.
"Brilliant!" exclaimed Boomerang, slapping his hands together and rubbing them briskly. "Right, so what's a fella got ta do for a pair of pants around here?"
Floyd closed his eyes. He didn't pray often, but he had the feeling he'd need a helluva lot more than just luck to pull this thing off.