January 11
Linda sat in her desk chair, leaning back and staring across the loft at J'onn—in his natural Martian form—sitting on the sofa; Streaky lay next to him, curled up, her eyes half-closed, purring softly as J'onn silently pet her.
"So, when are we going to start?" she finally asked, her tone laced with slight annoyance and impatience. "You've been here ten minutes, and the only thing that's been accomplished is my cat's gotten a back rub."
"I've been waiting for you to start," J'onn replied. "This is, after all, about you." Linda snorted as she folded her arms and looked to the side. J'onn just stared at her calmly, a slight twinkle in his red eyes, before he reached into a side pocket on his suit. He pulled out a small plastic package of cookies and unwrapped it; he took one from the cookies out and held it out to the young girl. "Would you care for one?"
Linda looked over and saw J'onn holding out a cookie toward her; she raised an eyebrow. "Are you offering me a Choco?" she asked.
"I am," J'onn replied. "Clark told me you've developed quite the sweet tooth since arriving on Earth—especially for anything with chocolate in it."
Linda opened her mouth, but as she glanced at the cookie—the aroma of the two chocolate wafers sandwiching a creamy center wafting into her nostrils—and the snarky remark she had planned to use didn't seem quite so important; she actually felt her mouth watering with tasty anticipation. Wordlessly, she slowly crossed the loft and sat on the far side of the couch; she hesitated a moment before taking the offered gift—and then quickly shoved it in her mouth.
"Thank you," she mumbled as she chewed in content.
"You're most welcome," J'onn replied, smiling a little as he took a cookie and took a bite.
"Have you always liked Chocos?" Linda asked.
J'onn swallowed. "Ever since I came to Earth," he answered.
"What was it like for you?" Linda asked, her expression turning more serious as the tone of her voice dropped.
"Frightening, at first," J'onn replied. "I had just...witnessed the loss of my family, then I brought to Earth against my will; I knew nothing and no one. I was scared, just like you, unsure if I would be able to fit into this strange new world and call it home."
"But you did," Linda pointed out, taking another cookie and nibbling on it.
"Yes, but it took time," J'onn said gently, "and it wasn't easy; getting others to trust me took the longest, but it did finally come."
"Yeah, but I bet you never flipped out like I did last week," Linda muttered.
"On the contrary," J'onn replied. "There was a time, about five years ago…."
One Week Later…
Jimmy squeezed his eyes shut and pulled the covers tighter around him as the pounding on the front door resonated in his head; he didn't have a headache, but it was still early Saturday morning, and one of the first in a long time that the teenager didn't have to be anywhere. He knew his mother wouldn't be home until Tuesday (she was at the annual American Forensic Association convention in D.C.), so Jimmy had planned to spend the day aimlessly roaming the city and taking random photographs—after sleeping in.
Jimmy groaned loudly and threw back the covers as the pounding continued. "I'm coming!" he shouted, annoyed, as he got out of bed and angrily marched out of his room, muttering threats and colorful words loudly as he crossed the living room to the front door. He quickly undid the locks and yanked the doorknob as hard as he could, the door swinging open. "What?"
"You're an ass," Gar said, glaring at the photographer as he stood on the other side.
Jimmy was so caught off guard by Gar's appearance and blunt insult that the photographer's expression quickly morphed from anger into confusion. "What?" he asked, furrowing his eyebrows.
"You heard me, Olsen," Gar replied. "You. Are. An. Ass. And coming from someone who can actually change into one, that's saying something." He brushed past Jimmy and walked into the apartment. "We need to talk."
"About what?" Jimmy asked as he shut the door.
"About why you haven't talked to Linda since the whole red k thing," Gar replied.
Jimmy's face darkened. "I already told you, Gar," he said, "Linda's better off without me in her life to screw it up."
"How many times do I have to say 'it wasn't your fault'?" Gar protested. "You can't be blamed for something you didn't even know existed."
"You know it's not about that," Jimmy said angrily.
"I know what it's about," Gar replied, "and the fact that you still haven't talked to Linda about it after all this time is further proving that you are, in fact, being an ass."
"There's nothing left to talk about," Jimmy retorted.
"Aside from the fact that Linda's been depressed ever since that night," Gar responded, and he saw the flicker of concern in Jimmy's eyes as the photographer looked over, "or the fact that I'm pretty much the only friend at school who's actually talking to her right now because the rest of them don't have the slightest clue of what really happened, so they're still trying to process Linda's little 'mood swing.'" He knew Jimmy was listening, but Gar wasn't finished driving his point home. "Maybe I should mention that she hasn't done any art since then, or that her grades have been dropping, or that that she's been spending a few hours each week talking to J'onn about the visions and everything else under the sun so they can try to figure out what the hell is going on with her."
"Great, I've made her lose her mind," Jimmy muttered as he abruptly marched to the kitchen and pulled open the fridge. He grabbed a can of Soder Cola and opened it, gulping down half the contents before stopping; he belched loudly.
"Actually, she's not," Gar replied. "J'onn was able to get inside her mind and figured out the visions were actually implanted memories—by Rok-Var."
Jimmy looked over, startled and confused. "Come again?" he asked as he slowly walked out of the kitchen, his eyes staying on Gar the entire time.
"Look, all I know," Gar said, "is that J'onn thinks she saw something horrible and dangerous, and Rok-Var telepathically suppressed it and covered it up with fake good memories, but the barrier he put up has been breaking down since the cave-in; J'onn's helping her sort through it." He shrugged a little. "Even the rest of the League has actually calmed down about Linda being a potential threat and want to help her."
"Even Bruce?" Jimmy asked, raising an eyebrow.
Gar gave him a look. "Bruce is being Bruce."
Jimmy nodded. "Point taken."
Gar tilted his head a little. "You know," he continued, his voice calmer, "the real reason she's been in such a funk is because she's embarrassed and confused by how she acted—and that you've been avoiding her because you can't even stand to look at her any more." He saw the flicker in Jimmy's eyes as his jaw set, and Gar sighed. "All I'm saying is that you two need to talk this thing out—and the longer you wait, the harder it's going to be."
"Who says she'll even want to talk to me?" Jimmy asked, slightly defensive.
Gar reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his cell phone. "There's only one way to find out."
Almost Two Weeks Later…
The air was thick with the stench of rancid water mixed with the unmistakable odor of human waste. Water trickled from side tunnels into the main corridor, mingling with the trash and other filth. The sewer rats—most of them the size of small dogs—scurried along the edges, trying to stay as dry as possible; their noses twitched rapidly as they scampered around, their noses twitching as they picked up the foul scents of rotting food.
The overhead lights barely shown farther than a few feet, but it didn't stop the young man from running as fast as he could, his leather boots slipping occasionally on the wet concrete. He tripped and fell, his cloak and pants soaked, but he didn't care as he quickly scrambled to his feet and continued running. Trying to remember where he was, he turned a corner, and he quickly skittered to a stop as his stomach clenched; even in the dim light, he could see the bricked wall as clear as day.
He was trapped.
Breathing heavily, he quickly pivoted on his feet and stopped short when he saw a familiar figure standing less than ten feet away. The young man wondered how the person had found him so quickly—and how he hadn't heard his approach—but the glint of the large sword in the person's hand caught the young man's attention. He swallowed, looking at the person's face.
"Look, I promise you, I won't say a word," he said, still breathing heavily, his heart pounding. The person slowly inched forward, and the young man took a step back. "You don't have to even pay me, okay? I won't say anything, I swear!" The person continued moving toward the young man as he backed up against the brick wall. "Please, don't kill me, you don't have to kill-"
The young man suddenly grunted and stiffened before a trail of blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. If he had had time to look down, he would have seen the blade of the sword stuck in his abdomen. He slowly tilted his head in disbelief; the person's eyes were hidden by a hood, but there was just enough light to make out the cruel smile on the shadowy face.
The person put his free hand on the young man's shoulder, almost in a twisted display of offering comfort, before he slowly backed up, pulling the young man with him. He stopped after a few feet and gripped his sword a little tighter before running it all the way through to the hilt; the young man couldn't see the exposed blade behind him, covered in his own blood. Wordlessly, the person quickly twisted the blade ninety degrees and withdrew it; the young man gave a final grunt before collapsing and didn't move again. Blood poured from the young man's stomach, mingling with the filth and dampness, as the shadowy figure turned and disappeared back into the shadows.
(End of Chapter 1)