Disclaimer: I don't own Justice League Unlimited

Priorities

Internal

John turned down the volume on the TV and brought his hand up, rubbing his eyes wearily. He wasn't sure why he had just done that. Wally had only been trying to help. True, it was in his own ass-y, Flash way, but still… one thing that John had learnt the hard way about the speedster was that his intentions were always good.

Except when he was throwing water balloons or planting whoopee cushions around the Watchtower, of course.

It was strange to think that the Watchtower was gone. He wondered if Batman would have it rebuilt the same, or change the design. There were a few things that John could think of, if only he could bring himself to get his ass out of his apartment and into the whole wide world again.

But that was something that for whatever reason, he was unwilling to do. He had had plenty of time to think about why he wouldn't want to get on with it. Maybe it was to do with how everyone would react to him. When they had first learnt of Shayera's mission to spy on them, the League had come up to him one by one, consoling him on what happened.

While J'onn hadn't been completely unexpected, Batman's advice on women had just been a little too weird for John. But then again, this was before he knew Batman was Bruce Wayne.

He still couldn't quite believe that one.

Of course, now the reaction would be even worse. Full of 'Are you okay, John?' and 'Maybe you should sit this one out, John'. And he'd probably compounded it even more by staying in his apartment for two weeks with little to no communication with the outside world.

Maybe it was because of the public's reaction. Maybe he wouldn't want their pity and morbid little gossiping voices all around him.

He doubted that was it.

Or maybe, just maybe, it was because he didn't want to think about the idea of being in a new Watchtower, a new Justice League, and not have her be there. Not to have that brief flutter of excitement when he would see her after one of them returned from a mission. Not to hear her talking about some Thanagarian dish with such enthusiasm and veracity that he could almost taste it.

Not to worry about her when she went out on a mission without him, or when she dove headfirst into a battle with little to no plan of action.

It was the worrying, he decided, that he would miss the most.

Not that there was anything wrong with him. He could get up at any time, pick up his ring and make his way over to Wayne Manor, or wherever the hell the League was at the moment.

He sat in the chair, his eyes focused on the TV.

Nothing wrong with him at all.

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