Green
A Super Boy-Miss Martian FanFiction
By Thwack (formerly Sympathique)
He had done something completely irrational and disproportionately offensive, yet again. It wasn't intentional – it never was. Sometimes he just didn't know how to conduct himself, and when it came to her he was perpetually dense. Blame it on his upbringing; everything that was programmed into his genetics by Project Cadmus – the nucleus of his nature – sought undiscriminating violence and wrath, unrestrained destruction and chaos. His purpose had been to develop into something dangerous equaling the capacity and power of the Superman, and the depths in which the mind control of that institution had delved – had violated his consciousness and twisted his resolve – made his considerable amount of aggression difficult to expunge. The goodness and kindness that radiated from her was polarized with his own darkness, and the grace with which she loved everything around her was a concept completely foreign to him. He resented her because he could not understand someone so good.
But intrinsically, there was something in her personality that moved him and drew him closer to her than to anyone else he had ever known. From the beginning she had demonstrated exceptional faith in his capacity for good, though ample evidence existed to the contrary. Maybe it was because she had not been in the bowels of Cadmus and thus had not witnessed the thing that he had been, the machine that could not distinguish between the ones keeping him shackled and submissive, and those that risked their lives to liberate him. Maybe if she had seen the monster that shredded through titanium and blasted burning lasers into the bodies of her friends, she would hesitate to treat him with such deference. But somehow, he doubted it. Even when recoiling away from his lashing tongue and biting words, she would simultaneously be reaching out to soothe his temper and mediate the situation. It was unfathomable to him how much patience she constantly seemed to have for him. Though typically taciturn and brooding, there was never a moment where she turned away from him in annoyance or loathing. It was always loving with her – always smiles and optimism and concern.
This time his temper had flared on the training grounds. With projectiles flying around the room at lightening speeds and the polished movements of their teammates arching through the air in avoidance, it was a maelstrom of costumes and metal punctuated by occasional explosions and fire wherever the weapons detonated. She had been hovering in the midst of the confusion, arms raised in preparation for the onslaught and cape billowing behind her like a banner. Blocking five oncoming missiles with her telekinesis and two more by tactfully dodging out of the way, she was holding her own just fine until Artemis deflected one of projectiles with a practiced proficiency, sending it sailing into her blindside. He watched as her spatial awareness kicked in and she pivoted in midair, hand extended outwards in a desperate attempt of averting the incoming lethal object, and moved automatically. Propelling himself forward in a matter of milliseconds, he managed to wrap a muscular arm around her waist and leverage his body in front of hers before hauling back a clenched fist and punching straight into the trajectory of the missile. The heat of the explosion was incredible, billowing around their intertwined bodies with a force all its own, scorching her upturned face and blinding them both. When she slumped in his embrace, and he knew she had fallen unconscious.
When she came around, he was spitting mad. Like the missile he had just protected her from, he exploded with a passion and a fiery completely unnecessary in the situation. He accused her of weakness and stupidity and many other unflattering things, even as the others tried to rationalize with him. As his words hit their mark, he registered the shocked expression that commandeered her compassionate face, those penetrating green eyes blinking up at him from where he had deposited her on the ground. And those lips, the same ones that could never utter a single bad thing about anyone, pressed together in silence.
In hindsight, he might have gone overboard.
She probably could have protected herself without his interference, swerving away from the missile or redirecting it with her powers. She was probably surprised when he grabbed her and took control of the situation. And she was probably touched that he was evidently so worried about her well-being…until he ruined everything and embarrassed her in front of their friends. He never rationalized any of these things until the anger faded away, leaving an uncomfortable twisting feeling in his gut. It would have been different if she had returned his fury with her own, matching his intensity and vehemence with her own. But she hadn't, and probably never would. Anyone else on the team would never think about stomaching the kind of criticism he had dished out – they would resent him and lash out. But not her. To her he was misunderstood and deserved the benefit of the doubt. To her his never-ending foul mood was just an outlet for the tortured soul within, bereft of love and never given a chance for inner redemption. That was why the twisting feeling lingered. He didn't deserve to be thought of that way, when he really was just as wretched and thoughtless as his actions depicted him to be.
She was slumped despondent inside the cockpit of her jet now, the rain outside pummeling against the windows and smudging the contours of her figure. He never usually paid attention to the rain – it was just water, after all. But right now it was an annoyance. He wanted to see her face and gauge her emotions, trace the lines of betrayal and hurt that would be etched across it. He wanted to wallow in the self -loathing it would bring. But he couldn't see anything except her profile. If he had been a better man, he would have walked over and apologized; would have taken back all of the words he had ruthlessly thrown at her. But then again, if he had been a better man none of this would have happened.
He hated himself sometimes – really truly hated himself. Why he insisted on hurting those around him was a mystery. It just came naturally. And if he could just say he was sorry for all the times he had put her down, demeaned her when she was being so considerate, and pushed her away when she started getting too close, maybe he wouldn't be so self-depreciating. But the problem was that he couldn't. There was a mental block that persisted, making him stubborn and stingy with feelings. It was like something was jamming his throat, clogging up the words and causing them to become stuck deep down inside, forever locked away from the people who deserved to hear them. And he could blame Cadmus for every fault and flaw of his physical form, and hate them for making him the way he was, but somewhere within him he knew that the incapacity of expressing his emotions was his own doing. He was developing as a person with each passing day, experiencing normal human things like baking or basking in the sun-warmed ocean. He was learning to co-exist with his teammates as one piece of a whole, as an individual culpable for their actions. He was growing. But despite all of this, he was still struggling. Especially when it came to her. And he was becoming uncomfortably aware that the things he was accusing her of, the weakness and stupidity that she supposedly exemplified, were really his own burdens.
He turned away then, knowing and hating that though his mind wanted him to approach her, his feet would never comply. Next time they crossed paths, he would make sure to hold open the door for her or let her choose which television show to watch. Subtly, he would make amends. It was the only way to stave off the repugnance he harbored for himself – the only way to rectify the situation in his mind. All he had wanted was to protect her from that missile, and it had blown up in his face. He hadn't wanted to see her hurt, but ultimately that is what he managed to do. She would never know how sorry he was for making her sad.
But then again, he was missing something important.
Megan opened her eyes and took a deep breath inside the jet, taking in the familiar smell and feeling comforted. The rain outside was beginning to render from the ground that powerful fragrance of soil so distinctive to Earth. There was nothing that smelled quite like it where she came from. Life teamed in that smell – plants and animals and all other things existing and breathing could be summed up within it. Deep and strong and permeating. Not unlike her probing telepathy, which could crawl into the darkest recesses of a mind and extract any information that she so pleased. Yeah, she knew it was wrong and that she promised her teammates under the strictest of penalties that she would never use it against them, but really, he kind of deserved it for being such a jerk. And it had its purposes here and there.
She reminded herself to thank him nicely the next time they met, because chances were that he would be holding a door for her.
End