[ AN: I don't own anything but Mae, her grandparents and the plot. Everything else belongs to...whoever came up with Young Justice. I would really appreciate reviews so that I can improve. Special thanks and kudos to ChuChuMarshmallow for taking the time to check out my work and beta it for me! Check her out! ]
The changes hadn't been subtle. One of the many things Mae lacked was discernment, more towards situations than the feelings of others. It had started with small inquiries: what his favorite colors were, (any shade of oceanic blue), if he had a problem with cream. He knew she was putting together some sort of gift, perhaps a painting, since they had discussed their mutual love for art during one of their many casual conversations. Then the questions had taken a turn towards eccentric. She had dragged him to several stores and asked his opinion on a number of things: fabrics for linen, wooden furniture, paintings, plants. He had humored her, hadn't asked even though his theory had been wrong and he was all the more curious.
His patience, however, was rewarded. His early return from seeing the monarchs of his home had him stumbling across a newly transformed room and a satisfied Mae, her hair more disheveled than usual and a sampling of the paint on the walls all over her clothes. She had been indignant at first, rambling about how he wasn't supposed to be back so soon, how it was supposed to be a surprise and she hadn't even gotten the paintings. He had been taken aback by the effort: the seashells on the night tables beside the new bed, the fishnet hanging from the ceiling, the aquarium pushed up against the wall (both of which he didn't really know how to feel about). The gesture had made his chest tighten, made him realize he was in too deep to just walk away if it came to that.
Later, while lying on the new bed, his hands splayed possessively on her stomach while he laid on his side, she looked up at him and he asked why, to which she replied:
"Atlantis is your home: you were born there, raised there; your people are there. But you spent most of your time here, on the surface, protecting people that don't care about you. I just thought if your room was a bit more Atlantean, it'd be easier to think of here as home too."
It was hard to fathom, he had thought, his hand ensnaring in her tangled hair to pull her chapped lips up to his. She should have known home was where she was.