Author's Note: Sorry for the long wait folks! I actually had this chapter partially written for a while, but between school work and some nefarious plot bunnies distracting me, I never got around to finishing and/or editing it, despite really wanting to finish it. Isn't that always the way.

oOoOo

Chapter Five

M'gann is in her chambers, studying- or rather, attempting to- when there is a polite knock on the door. She literally flies from the bed, welcome for the distraction, only to stop mid-air when she hears Conner say in a low tone, "M'gann? Can I come in?"

She bites her lip hesitantly. She's still not sure where she and Conner stand. Things are better now, much better, but they're still not to where they were before- and she's not sure if they ever will be. But she likes the fact that they can talk again, and hang out, and touch, even if it is just as friends.

She doesn't want to lose any of that. Therefore, she's more than a little nervous at the darkness in his voice, and the cloud of negative emotions pressing against her psyche.

"Yeah," she calls, as drifts down to the floor. "Come on in."

Superboy opens the door, steps in, and immediately shuts it behind him. Even though she's trying not to, the martian can practically taste his feelings; worry, concern, fear, anger...

He fixes her with an iron stare, and says, without preamble, "Have you been in my mind?"

Her eyes widen in shock. "No. No, not unless you count the mind-link from the last mission-"

"That's not what I mean, and you know it."

Her lips press together. "No, none of that."

"Really?" he says, stepping closer to her, muscles tense.

"Really. I would-" she stops. I would never do that, she was going to say, except that they both know that isn't true. She would do it, or would have, once. "I didn't. Not now."

Not after Kaldur.

She doesn't actually project that last thought, but unsaid or not, Conner seems to sense it. He relaxes, marginally.

M'gann tilts her head, mind whirring into a million different directions, none of them good. "Conner. Why did you think that-"

"I can tell when somebody's been messing with my mind, Megan."

She flinches at the sharp words, the same ones he said to her before.

He doesn't seem to notice this, however, and M'gann can sense that the anger he's feeling isn't directed at her, not anymore. He's glaring down at the metal floor, hard enough that it would melt if he actually possessed Superman's heat vision, lost in his own thoughts. She hesitates several moments before saying, cautiously, "What do you think is wrong?"

The clone sits down on the bed with a sigh. "Don't know. Something's different, though. I can feel it."

Tentatively, M'gann takes a seat next to him. "Try to describe it."

She doesn't doubt Conner's word on this. Superboy is not psychic himself, but he is very receptive to psychic fields- a side-effect of his genomorph upbringing, followed by a subsequent six years on a team with a very powerful telepath. It's a factor that M'gann should have kept in mind herself when she tried to alter his memories. However, just because he can sense mental manipulation, doesn't mean he can accurately put it into words- that's something that no human language was designed to do.

He gives it his best shot, however. "It's subtle. I wouldn't have noticed it if I hadn't been looking. But it feels like something's- shifted, slightly." He growls slightly in frustration. "It just feels different, somehow."

"Does it feel like it's your memories or your emotions which have been affected?"

He's silent for a moment as he thinks the question over. Finally, he says. "Both."

She winces. "Any obviously missing memories? Blackouts?"

"No," he says sharply. His expression softens immediately. "Sorry. It's just-"

"Yeah, I know," she says.

The implications are obvious. The League and the Team have dealt with mind manipulation many times before- too may times- and they know the consequences that can come of it.

They sit there, silent, considering the possibilities. Then, Conner says, "So. Will you take a look?"

"What?" M'gann stutters, blinking up at him in surprise.

"In my head," he clarifies, as if that was the part she's confused about.

"I don't-"

"If we leave it, who knows what will happen?" Superboy says. Nothing good, and they both know it.

"But my uncle-"

"Is in the middle of a three day senate with the UN. With Luthor," he points out. "You're here, he's not."

She doesn't say anything, or even open her mouth, just sits there, wide-eyed. Bites her lip.

"Look," he says. "This wouldn't exactly be my first choice either, but I don't want to risk it. So- please, M'gann."

So- he still does not completely trust her with his mind. M'gann tries not to feel bitter about it- after all, she still doesn't completely trust herself with the minds of others.

But he's asking, and they don't want a repeat of the Green Beetle incident. So.

"Alright. I'll take a look."

She shifts on the bed, drawing her legs up to sit cross legged. Conner does the same, knowing the cramping that can occur if one holds an uncomfortable position for an extended psychic session. Once they're both comfortable, M'gann reaches out and lays her hands on either side of his forehead; which is hardly necessary, but feels more natural.

Conner closes his eyes, and she closes her own, and they dive inwards.

oOoOoOo

It's getting worse. Much worse.

Wally feels terrible, terrible all over. All he wants to do is lie down. No, all he wants to do is eat. Eat the biggest, unhealthiest meal he can find, something with more sugar and fats that would ever be healthy if he didn't have a metabolism which seemingly chews through calories like- like something that chews a lot, he doesn't know!

Damn, I'm too worn out to even think of good similes anymore, he bemoans, and then wonders if he could ever think of good similes. Is he a witty person? Wally doesn't know, and it's becoming more and more likely that he's not going to get the chance to find out.

He's slowly down, but Wally fights it. He can't slow, can't stop, not even for a break. It's sub-zero out here, and all he seems to be wearing is some weird yellow suit, clearly built for speed over warmth. Without his muscles generating heat, he'll most likely freeze to death.

Of course, the way it's going , Wally reflects, as he nearly looses his balance, I might starve first.

His blurry vision actually has spots now. He can feel muscle cramps throughout his legs. He's so tired...

Sooner or later, the car is going to run out of gas, and no amount of will-power will keep it's wheels turning.

But when he sees a small collection of low, brown buildings just on the horizon, Wally realizes with a sigh of relief, that he won't have to. He puts on one last burst of speed, rapidly approaching the town, or outpost or whatever it is- too rapidly, it seems, because the ice here is slippery, and his muscles aren't responding the way they should, he can't stop-

He barrels straight into a door, just barely managing to brace himself. There's a sickening thump. Wally hopes he didn't break anything as he tumbles to the ground.

Some time later- he's not sure how long, time seems a titch fuzzy, maybe he's just gotten a concussion- the door opens. It's a girl, brown skin, ten years or so. Adorable as a button. She stares down at him with wide eyes.

"Please," Wally manages to creak out. "Food. I need food."