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The Watchtower hangs in space, holding its geosynchronous orbit over the central United States. In the monitor womb, J’onn is on duty, keeping a careful eye on the activity of the planet below. It’s mostly quiet for once, the Earth withholding its natural disasters and its inhabitants refraining from major crimes against one another. Despite this interlude of relative peace, the Watchtower is almost empty. The passive hum of the presence of his fellow Justice League members is subdued - the watchful undertones of Batman’s mind, the clear resonance of Superman, the sharp bite of Wonder Woman - these are all absent, those members of the league on the planet below, enacting more personal watches over their own domains.
Only Green Lantern and Flash remain with him aboard the satellite. The Lantern’s perpetual stolid calm places him somewhere in the common areas above the monitoring room, and Flash’s cascade of sense-thought-reaction is close by, very close. He is, J’onn realises, just outside the door. Only standing there, not passing by, one foot anxiously tapping at the floor, so quickly that the noise it makes is a rattle that melds with the background electric buzz of equipment.
J’onn is curious. Why would Flash come here now, when it is not required of him? J’onn would expect to find him in the common area in front of the TV, not loitering in the hall. He would probe deeper, expand his awareness of Flash beyond recognisance of his presence towards knowledge of his intent… but that would be rude, a breach of the privacy and the trust that is still so delicate between him and his allies. He chooses to wait, watching the screens.
There is a thunderstorm over Panama, but not so severe that the local infrastructure won’t be able to deal with it. The seismic activity along volcanic faults is within normal parameters. Fluctuations in the earth’s gravitational field are in accordance with the natural flow of currents above and below the planet’s crust.
Patience is rewarded. The door slides open, silent for all its great weight, and Flash walks into the room on light feet. He settles into the chair next to J’onn, swiveling it a little towards the Martian and propping up his legs on the console with apparent carelessness. The hesitance which J’onn had detected when Flash stood outside the door is no longer evident in his behaviour, but it shivers along the surface of his mind, malleable and encompassing like a cellophane wrap. Flash drops a crinkly package onto the console, near his booted feet.
“Hello,” says J’onn politely, diverting a portion of his attention to his visitor. He hopes to dispel that nervousness with common pleasantries.
“Hi,” says Flash, ducking his eyes away from J’onn’s gaze. “What’cha doing? Or, well, monitor duty, obviously. Sucks to be stuck with that, huh? Thought I might come keep you company, ‘cause GL’s being all boring up there. You don’t mind, do you?”
“No, I do not mind.”
“Uhuh, okay,” says Flash, picking the package back up and tearing into it. A dark, round object appears from within and promptly disappears into his mouth. “Choco?” he asks around the cookie, and offers the remaining ones, accidentally jabbing J’onn in the arm.
J’onn takes a cookie.
“So I gotta admit,” Flash cuts into the brief silence, “I didn’t just come up here because I was bored. ‘Cause this place is not the place to go to not be bored. Not that you’re boring! Just that monitor duty… Let me start again.”
J’onn turns a little in his chair, to show Flash that he is listening, and eats his Choco in two bites. It is crumbly and dry and vaguely chocolate-flavored on the outsides, with a smooth white filling in the middle. There are crumbs on his lap, now.
“Maybe it’s none of my business. We don’t really know each other that well, and we don’t have much in common at all. ‘Cause you’re an A-lister for sure and I only have pretensions to greatness, and you’re older and wiser and probably don’t need me at all.”
His companion is agitated, J’onn can tell. His self-doubt is a plainly evident sheen over the surface of his mind, the true source of what earlier manifested as hesitance. It’s a sour anxiety temporarily refined from the normal seethe of Flash’s mind. J’onn takes another Choco without really paying attention to it.
“But I wanted to ask you a question,” the Flash is saying, “Ever since you and Supes got back from that War World place, you’ve been quiet, quieter than usual for you I mean. Are you okay?”
The martian opens his mouth to answer, but closes it again, because Flash has left no opening for response, plunging onward. “But if you don’t want to talk to me that’s okay too. I just thought maybe you might want to talk to someone but didn’t want to approach - but that’s silly. You’re like GL. You can stand on your own.”
J’onn lowers the hand with the Choco into his lap, solemnly meeting Flash’s eyes. The young man has expressed concern for him, quite sincerely, and it would be unconscionable to not meet him in the same spirit. “You are more observant than you are given credit, and kinder than even you recognise. I had not intended to talk to anyone… but you are correct; I am not okay.” The truth of the admission crawls on his skin and makes his lips tingle.
A flush has risen on Flash’s cheeks. J’onn isolates a little pride, a little embarrassment, and a greater proportion of concern from the accompanying rush of emotion. “I, uh. What’s wrong? Whatever it is, I’ll listen. Usually I’m the talker but people don’t know I can listen too and I can keep secrets, if it’s secrets you’ve got.”
The Chocos wrapper crinkles, and sags in the middle as more of the cookies disappear under Flash’s ministrations. J’onn finishes his second, chewing contemplatively as he glances once more over the monitors, which remain complacent. “Not secret,” he says, “private, yes. And this is not the time or place for such talk. Will you meet me on the observation deck, when my shift here has ended?”
Another rush of undifferentiated emotion from the Flash. J’onn thinks that he could become used to it.
“And when’d that be?”
“Another twenty minutes.”
“Sure. Mind if I stay?”
“I thought this was not the place to go to not be bored.”
“Not here to not be bored,” Flash corrects. “‘m here to keep you company.”
No further conversation results, making the atmosphere quickly grow somewhat awkward. The anxiety rises slowly to the surface of Flash’s mind again. Only the package of cookies between them keeps the situation from becoming intolerably artificial. Most of them end up in Flash’s belly, but J’onn eats another three over the course of the twenty minutes.
Mercifully, Green Lantern arrives to replace J’onn in the chair before the host of screens. He delivers a mock-stern glare to Flash’s feet, still resting perilously close to the switches and shallow buttons that control the comms and feeds. The feet are on the ground again in an instant, the empty Chocos package in Flash’s hand. A blur of red and a gentle brush of air tell of the Fastest Man Alive’s departure from the room.
J’onn knows he will find the young man on the observation deck, so he does not rush his own exit. He yields his seat to the Green Lantern, with a brief report on the incidents of the previous shift - “Everything is quiet. I suggest keeping an eye on the weather patterns over the south Pacific, though.” He brushes Choco crumbs from his lap.
“Thanks, J’onn,” says GL as he takes his seat, and nothing more. The Lantern’s thought patterns are already settling into patient observance, and J’onn leaves him to his work.
The observation deck is on one end of the central portion of the Watchtower’s mass. The floor is composed of some kind of thick, clear plating to separate them from the harsh void while still allowing an unfiltered view of their surroundings, and it wraps around the central column of the satellite in a disorienting way. J’onn feels a little that he must be flung out towards the distant stars, but the normal force presses him implacably inwards, so he can stand on the transparent floor as if on the planet below.
“Dunno why Bats couldn’t just extend the artificial gravity up here, too,” says the Flash, approaching J’onn from around the other side of the room.
“I like it,” J’onn admits, looking past Flash towards the Earth, which rushes on by as the Watchtower continues to spin. “The principles behind this form of artificial gravity are so simple…”
“Well, I don’t,” Flash complains. “The earth spinning around us like that - makes me feel nauseous.”
“Alter your perspective,” J’onn suggests. “The earth does not move around us. We spin in place beside the earth. If you were to run around this deck, at the same speed that the satellite rotates but in the opposite direction, you will see everything outside as motionless in relation.”
“Huh,” says Flash consideringly, and does just that. He does not have to run very fast, or not what passes for fast for the Flash, because the Watchtower has a large radius.
“Whoa,” he says as he comes to a halt next to J’onn after four circuits, “you were right, I get it now. The way we’re moving. Thanks. Oh, and I brought these!” He shoves another pack of Chocos into J’onn’s hands. “You seemed to like ‘em and I’ve got lots. Brought some cheese puffs for me so you could have all of those - don’t let me take any this time!”
J’onn looks down at the brightly colored package. There is a picture of a Choco on it. It has arms and legs and a face, smiling and waving. It’s the first gift he’s been given in a very long time. “Thank you, Flash.”
“You can call me Wally, you know,” is mumbled through a mouth full of cheese snack.
“Are you certain?”
“Wouldn’t have said so if I weren’t,” says Wally after swallowing. “Figured, you’re a telepath, so you probably already know who I am, yeah?” he looks to J’onn for confirmation, and the martian nods slightly. “Yeah. And I know your name, and fair’s fair. And friends should call each other by their names, I think.”
“We are friends, then?” J’onn asks. He needs the confirmation, because humans often misrepresent how they feel in order to serve some end, and he would rather not be mistaken about Flash’s - Wally’s - intent.
“Why shouldn’t we be?” Wally sounds honestly confused. “I mean, I’ve shared food with you, you’ve decided to talk to me, we fight together - not against each other of course, I mean that we fight things together - you’re awesome, I’m awesome. Makes sense we would be friends.”
“I am glad,” says J’onn.
Flash smiles a little, but his head tilts back in a conflicting signal. He’s made him uncomfortable, J’onn realises. Humans aren’t so frank, he recalls, about their feelings. They prefer to wrap them up in many words to blunt the way that the sharing can pierce deep. The martian frowns a little, dipping his chin and angling his shoulders a few degrees away.
The young man takes a half step forward, intent on his original goal, and re-engages them both in the conversation. “So, as your friend, it’s my duty to help you out right now. And that means giving you food,” he uses his chin to indicate the Chocos in J’onn’s hand, “and that means getting you to talk to me about why… about why you’re sad. So. Why are you sad?”
J’onn looks forward, through the glass at the planet passing by. It’s not that he doesn’t want to talk about it, he tells himself. It’s that he doesn’t know how to explain. It’s not that he doesn’t trust his teammates - he does, he does - it’s that they don’t invite that kind of conversation. Flash is inviting, so he needs to try to explain. He touches his temple.
“When I was on Warworld,” he begins, “I saw many different species, sentient and non sentient. I’ve been on planets like Warworld before, places where many races mingle to trade and to play - I was adventurous, compared to most Martians. Most of us prefer to remain on Mars. Aliens are strange to us… were strange to us, because the feel of their minds... your minds is so unfamiliar, difficult to understand.” He finds his tenses and pronouns slipping. Although he’s aware he’s talking to an alien in a time when Mars is dead, it’s surprisingly difficult to keep that in mind.
“I was adventurous,” he repeats, “and traveled the galaxy, meeting many strangers with minds that perceived existence differently as only aliens can know difference. But always, I returned home. Then there was M’yri’ah, and then there was our child, K’hym, and I stopped travelling.
“On Warworld,” he continues, returning to the original point, “among all those species, I was the only Martian. And so far as I know, I am the only Martian, and will always be the only Martian.” However many times he repeats it, it is dead on his tongue. “When in my travels before I could go home to my family… I can no longer.” He looks at Flash - at Wally. “It is weighing heavily on my mind.”
He expected Wally to look away, to be unable to meet his red eyes. When he has mentioned his species’ extinction before to others, they have reacted in just such ways. He forgave them for their silence, and he would do the same now, except that it is not necessary. Wally does not look away.
“You miss them a lot,” says the speedster. His mind tastes of tentative comprehension, of sympathy, of a feeling of inadequacy in the face of… J’onn squeezes his mind-sense closed.
“I do,” he says, very softly.
“Is it really so strange here? The people. Aren’t people just… people? The things might be different but shouldn’t society be basically the same?”
“No,” J’onn says, shaking his head. It’s…” he struggles for a way to explain. “Humans, the way you communicate, it’s… may I show you?”
“Show… oh! Uh, yeah. Okay.”
The martian’s eyes flash orange before he closes them, and reaches with intent this time for Wally West’s mind, to show as can only be shown this way how it is to live as such an alien among humans.
Compatibility is poor hello, Wally and it is the mutuality of a shared language that allows any interface this is weird, J’onn I know we did this when we were fighting the white invaders but different now why? at all and even with that when we have spoken this way before it was only in words, and it is not just words I try to pass on now J’onn is not sure that he can accomplish what he meant to attempt.
So instead of showing Wally his own mind as he had originally intended, J’onn shows Wally Wally’s mind as J’onn sees it. He shows Flash of thoughts too quick to follow as fast as the man himself. Bright colors, intuitions grown through experiences that J’onn does not share. Expectations from Flash that J’onn will know what he means, and J’onn does not, he has not been there, how strange is it that we can speak the same language and not understand one another. Expressions difficult to read, expressions impossible to understand, alien expressions alien perceptions alien language. The link is stronger now, and he shows Minds locked inside of themselves reaching out only through clumsy words. Disconnects between the inside and the outside of people, lies kept deep and unknowable from one another lies kept intentionally unintentionally. Keeping secrets (I am not like you, I am not one of you) keeping them badly but keeping them still because they cannot read they cannot see me as I can see you.
A speedster intelligent/selfless/lonely/mature/skilled/fast/kind J’onn knows him this way because he does not expect to know anything before it is displayed, and because he sees things displayed that others cannot see displayed. He knows secrets, he knows Flash.
Instead of fracturing as J’onn had half-expected, Do you understand? the link has become stronger over the course of the transfer I think I do maybe a little no wonder you’re sad I’m sorry because Wally has reached back, amateurish do not be sorry but it is good enough.
He lingers a little in the quickness of Flash before he withdraws, a mind that has welcomed him in and tried to reciprocate, the mind of a friend.
Wally has his hands on J’onn’s upper arms, and the speedster catches himself by them as he returns to himself. “Wow.”
“Sit down,” J’onn suggests, and he lowers himself with Wally to the floor. A half-empty bag of cheese puffs is lying a short distance away and Wally reaches out to pull them back. His fingers, J’onn sees, are streaked with the orange powder, and traces of it have transferred to J’onn’s arms. J’onn finds he does not mind.
They sit in silence for what is a short time to J’onn and a long time to Wally.
“That was weird, I won’t lie,” Wally speaks, “But it wasn’t bad-weird just different-weird. Did it help you at all?”
“You are not Martian…”
“Way to state the obvious. Sorry. Go on.”
“...but it was only different, not bad. I would… Thank you, Wally.”
“Anytime. No, really, anytime. I like helping people. Also I like having friends who know who I am and are ok with it, and I think after that,” he waves his hand vaguely around his head, “you probably know me better than I know me.”
“I doubt that,” says J’onn with a smile. “It would take more than a three-minute merge to know you as well as that.”
“Oh, you saying I have ‘hidden depths?’” says Wally with finger quotes. “Sure, we can go with that! Oh,” he adds with dismay, “I’m out of cheese puffs.”