A cool spring wind blew through the tombstones as Oliver parked his Pathfinder and pulled his jacket from the seat beside him, intent on starting his search. Oliver wasn't fond of walking through the gravesites, he found the whole thing a little morbid. When he died, he wanted people to remember him in his life wherever they chose, not at some slab of concrete where his bones and lifeless body was stuck to rot. He would be cremated and his ashes would be spread someplace of great beauty, perhaps in the Rocky Mountains where he had loved to vacation, back in the days when he took them.

"Can I help you?"

Oliver was stirred from his thoughts by the voice, and he turned to see a small, older black gentleman. Oliver assumed he was a groundskeeper, since he came complete with dirty overalls and a shovel.

Oliver thought, for a moment, then decided he really didn't want to search for hours, aided only by his memory of the tombstone's location, which was spotty at best. "My name is Oliver and I am looking for someone."

The man laughed. It was a deep, hearty, sincere laugh, which almost caused Oliver to join in.

"Well," said the man, still mirthful, "I am gonna assume that it is a dead person, ‘cause otherwise you in the wrong place."

Oliver couldn't help but smile. "Yes, I am looking for a grave of an old friend. Her name is Juanita Marquez . . . "

"The Time Trapper," said the groundskeeper, rather matter-of-factly.

Oliver seemed surprised the man knew of her so well. "Yes, that is her. Did you know her?"

The old man snorted in humor, than began to take off through the tombstones, beckoning Oliver to follow. "Sure, she is our most famous resident here, nobody gets more visitors than she does."

Again, Oliver was caught by surprise. "Really?" he asked amazed, he wasn't aware she had any family, other than her son, who was attending Gotham University in New York.

"Yep," said the man, as he stopped momentarily to dust some dirt off a gravesite. "Well, she is kinda famous you know, being one of those costumed super-villains and the first known super-type victim of AIDS and all."

The thought that she was the first superhero or villain to die of AIDS had never really occurred to Oliver before. It had been 1985, so he supposed it was possible.

"If you don't mind me askin'," said the groundskeeper, as they continued their walk, "how did ya know her? I have met all kinds of interestin' folk, thanks to her."

Oliver smiled as he remembered. "I use to fight her and her partners in the Legion of Doom."

"Really?" said the old man. "You musta been one of those Champions."

This old man was full of surprises. "Yes, I was. Green Arrow to be exact."

"I remember you," said the old man, as he stopped to straighten some flowers leaning on a grave. "You were the one with all those crazy arrows, like the ones filled with gas and the punching glove and stuff . . . "

Oliver couldn't suppress laughter any longer. "Yes, that was me, that was a long time ago . . . "

"I understand," replied the groundskeeper, between laughs, "different times, different measures and all that. I remember those heroes. Costumed folk seemed less . . . dark then . . . now, it is all them types like than Punisher character, snuffin' out people and all."

The mention of Frank Castle's alter-ego brought Oliver's good humor to an end momentarily, and made him cringe. During his time as SHIELD Field Director, Frank Castle had been on his team, and had been perpetrating his Punisher killings under Oliver's nose. Oliver pushed those thoughts from his head by thinking of some of those light-hearted exploits that had occurred during his tenure in the Champions . . .

Usually, unless the Legion had some secret, or we were having an ‘off' day, we could clean up the mess in less than fifteen minutes. This Saturday was no exception. We would swoop in quickly. Forge would inevitable have some anti-plant gas or gadget, which kept Plantman at bay while we went inside the bank. Once in, I used a sleep gas or sonic-stun arrow to stop Ringmaster and Princess Python while Marina, Power Man, and Ms. Marvel made quick work of the other three, dazzling with an array of punches, kicks, and smacks. A few member of the Legion escaped, they always did, but most were thrown in jail, even if they probably escaped within a month, and we would start the whole process over again.

The other person, at the moment, was as near as interesting as the gravesite of Juanita Marquez. When Oliver had seen it last, it had been little more than a small tombstone. Now, there was much more. A stone statue, a replica of Juanita in her Time Trapper outfit, now stood, taller than Oliver, on a stone pedestal. To each side of the pedestal large, well-groomed rose bushes climbed high into the air, yielding some of the most beautifully colored roses Oliver had ever seen, there shades purple on one side, orange on the other, to match the colors of Time Trapper's costume.

Oliver ignored the stranger completely as he made his way to the gravesite to read the inscription on the pedestal. It read "To our friend and companion, and the first to fall. We miss you with all our hearts." Underneath, Oliver read, were the names of many of the Legion of Doom members, both their real names, and their codenames.

Oliver was stunned. Although, in the final months of her life, as she lied dying in her hospital bed, Oliver had befriended Juanita, he had never really thought of the Legion of Doom in this fashion. Sure, he had been close to his teammates in the Champions, and had formed friendships, which he held till this day, but he never really considered that they might do the same.

"Hello, Green Arrow . . . "

Oliver looked up from the inscription to the stranger standing beside him. Oliver didn't recognize the person, a man, probably in his fifties, thin, with a thin graying mustache and black hair tinged with streaks of gray. Oliver's perplexed look was not lost on the stranger.

"I know it has been a long time," said the stranger, smiling, "if I had a goofy hat and my awful patchwork outfit on, you might remember better . . . "

"Crazy Quilt?" muttered Oliver, astonished. It had been so long, and he looked much older. Fifteen plus years could do that to you, Oliver imagined.

"Been a while since anybody called me that," Quilt said as he smiled, "It is just Henry Quilt now. I have been out of the costumed villain thing for quite some time now. I am an interior decorator now, designing interiors for the wealthy of Minnesota."

"Did you do this for Juanita?" asked Oliver, amazed at the conversation he was having.

"Yes, me and most of the other members of Legion. We get together every few years and have dinner, share old times, gossip. About ten years ago, Jason* joined us from his planet-hopping and presented the idea, and we couldn't resist. Juanita had always been a good friend to all of us, and we were all deeply wounded when she died . . . "

*(Jason Woodrue, also known as Plantman and Floronic Man, former Legion of Doom member and current wielder of the Reality Gem)

Oliver felt weird. It was strange to hear an old enemy talk so human. Oliver never really had hated most of the Legion, most were just petty thieves and bored normal people, looking for some adventure in their lives.

Quilt continued, "You know, Oliver, most of us were, and still are, very grateful for what you did for Juanita in those final months. We know that you paid for her hospital bills, and after her death, made sure her son was given a good home. I also want you to know, when we discovered Merlyn and Black Bison attacked your family, all the other members strongly opposed it, and both of them were exiled from the group permanently."

Oliver shuddered at the thought of the attack by Merlyn and Black Bison that had nearly killed Oliver and his wife.

"Most of us didn't have the heart to continued being ‘villains' after Juanita died, and we gave up to live normal lives. Myself, I married a certain Princess, made her put her python in a display case, and we settled down and had children."

Oliver couldn't help but smile. At first it all seemed so absurd, but now it was sinking in. These people had been humans, just like he was. Under all the costumes and makeup, they had grown with time and age, just like he had.

Oliver stood and smiled warmly as his gaze met that of Henry. "I am kind of not on any schedule at the moment. Know of any good places in St. Paul where we could get a bagel and tea?"

That brought a smile to Henry's face as well, "I know this little place down on 4th Street. They make the best fresh blueberry bagels. Would you like to join me, tell a few stories about the ‘old days' and such."

"Sounds like a plan." Oliver said, as the two turned and walked back towards the entrance.