C is for Crashdown. He'd spent many days in that booth, pretending to be human, pretending to not care about the whispers about him, pretending that his foster dad wasn't a drunk out for all he could get, pretending the pretty waitress that served him really saw him and not the taint of his less-than-savory home life. Sighing, he turned away from the bright blue-green vinyl benches to survey the rest of the room, silent of laughter, whispers, clattering dishes and the smell of greasy, fatty, fried foods, his heart panged slightly to see the beginnings of change in the air.

He knew it as the place where life as he knew it ended within a split second and the sharp rapport of a gun, nearly killing a nosy, exasperating and stubborn small town waitress who had pushed, prodded and shoved her way into his life. That one event tipped his world on his axis and he'd been reeling ever since, trying to find a hold in his world of choice if not actual birth. Had someone told him years ago, that Max healing that tiny human girl would be the best thing that ever happened to him, he would have scoffed (maybe even zapped them for their stupidity) and had them committed.

But staring into sparkling chocolate eyes as he hit one knee, her fingers flying to her throat in surprise, he can see that momentous event for what it was. It wasn't an ending, but a beginning; and as he slid the tiny diamond on her finger, a watery giggle and acceptance tumbling past her lips, he knew he no longer had to pretend. He had everything he dreamed about in this life.

C is for Catalyst – a person or thing that precipitates an event or change. She was always babbling about things like that, often making his head hurt with her long, drawn out theories of cause and effect and the results. If event A had never occurred, then how would that affect B? Would it have happened? Would it have had a different taint or tilt? Would they have met, argued, hated, fought, became allies, became friends, became lovers, became each other's everything if she hadn't been in the way of a bullet that day?

The possible scenarios she dredged up made his head swim sometimes. He on the other hand, didn't think about such things. It did happen and they did meet and they did fight and spar and eventually shared that fateful kiss and fell in love. He'd learned at a very young age, that questioning past events will only drive you crazy, and that it wouldn't change a damn thing. All he cared was that it did happen, and he was grateful to whatever being or event or catalyst that set him on this path.

C is for Conceal. It was another word that defined their life and his life in particular; he felt like he was always hiding something from the world, from his family, from the girl he loved, although she had no idea that he loved her.

He had to hide his alien origins because the species that dominated the planet didn't tolerate anyone or anything different or more than themselves. He couldn't even begin to understand why his people sent them to Earth. It made no sense. Why would you send your hope for salvation to a planet that hated you and was intent on shooting you first and asking questions later, if you happened to survive their tests and experiments? Unless you never expected them to come back. But whatever their misguided reasons, the truth was, he was viewed as an abomination by this backwater planet and it forced him to conceal who he really was instead of seeking the answers he desperately needed.

Abuse – it followed him all of his life. It was his dirty little secret that he kept under wraps for many years, thinking that no one would ever believe him and even if on the half chance they would, there was nothing they could do to save him.

As a child, he hadn't known Hank's behavior was wrong or out of place until he'd had the opportunity to watch the Evans with Isabel and Max, but by that time, the damage had been done. It became his normal and like most victims of abuse, he believed that there was something wrong with him and that he deserved the slaps, the punches and the mocking words, so he concealed it in the hopes that his friends wouldn't find him unworthy.

But she always seemed to see right through him, found out every secret he'd hidden away without even trying, soft, compassionate, searching irises that followed him around a room, peeling back the carefully crafted mask one layer at a time, until he was laid bare, ugliness, scars and all visible to all-too-knowing eyes. And yet she hadn't run, hadn't viewed him as broken or unworthy. He fell in love with her for that, but given the feelings of his pseudo brother, he'd had to conceal that as well.

C is for Cry.