So this came out pretty vague, but I think it's because I don't believe the team can save M'gann from her evil future (if she's lying about the status of White Martian's being second class citizens).
Idk, I could've gone the easy route and had them save her from her guilt.
There is only one thing we have in common with White Martians, her teachers had told her. We were made to fear fire.
A long time ago, twice the age of the birth of man, M'gann was told again and again, the Green and White Martians were the same race, the Burning. The Burnings were ruthless, violent, terrible creatures. They were belligerent to all creatures, even to each other-said her teachers solemnly. Their asexual reproduction, the fire, the burning, was the backbone to their belief.
The Guardians of the Universe feared the raw power and intensity the Burning Martians held within themselves.
This cannot continue, they must have said amongst themselves. So they went about their plan of weakening the Burnings.
(M'gann's teachers always phrased it "Burnings were primitive, evil beings. The Guardians civilized us.")
The Guardians split the Martians into two genetically different races, Green and White. They were weaker than Burnings, although with most of the same powers, telepathy, shifting, etc. But the two races were different after the split, her teachers insisted. And they made them fear fire so that they would never reach their true, terrible potential.
The Green Martians are peaceful philosophers. Their thoughts never stray, telepathic abilities are honed. If they fight, it is with intelligence.
White Martians are…raw. Their emotions are scattered, bright and shining (and burning). They scream their thoughts to the stars, they fight ruthlessly
her teachers said.
M'gann was one of the best student her teachers had ever seen and she is the champion of her entire world.
M'gann finds humans utterly fascinating.
When her Uncle J'onn shows her Earth through their cable, she immediately notices that she cannot hear their thoughts.
Her entire world stops turning for a moment. She's never heard such silence before. Even Green Martians, who only keep few constant connections, do not keep this quiet.
There's always some form of noise, a whisper of an idea, the brief spark of emotion.
She wonders how humans can communicate so easily. She knows that humans lie, sometimes as a joke, sometimes seriously. They can lie to tease, to hide, to hurt, to comfort.
It's difficult for Martians to lie, your thoughts seen by all. M'gann has enough trouble keeping things private.
(She realizes later that humans can share hints of thoughts and feelings, willingly or not. It's all facial expressions, her uncle points out, showing her the same face, skin pulled at different angles in each picture. Their minds are isolated, but they show their hearts.)
Another thing that fascinates her: their labels for different skin color.
Or more specifically, white.
To her, they are pink, fleshy things.
Her Uncle tells her the correct term is Caucasian.
When she comes to Earth, she is overwhelmed by the thoughts of humans. It is the first difference between Earth and television.
The barrage of thoughts get worse when she enters the mountain and meets the boys that will be her teammates.
The thoughts become so loud, she keeps quiet (or maybe she's afraid of speaking out loud. She's rarely had to do it before.)
So many thoughts and she reaches out for the first quiet thing, the boy in the black shirt. She's surprised, his thoughts are…compact, tightly kept, like he's scared of what's what. If she reaches to far, she'll notice that it's a jumbled mess, heaps of data and numbers and facts and dates. (What does he need with all of that?)
There's nothing personal within him, save for fear, doubt, curiosity, and
He looks at her and there's no word for that quiet thing he holds in his head. It's…good. It's a good feeling.
She smiles and says, "I like your shirt."
She mistakes Aqualad-Kaldur-as human.
He laughs kindly, corrects her ("I'm only half human.") and shows her the webbing between his fingers and the closed gills on his neck.
She's afraid to touch his gills, thinking it might be rude. She touches the palm of his hand, turning it over, utterly fascinated.
She asks him what kind of stories they have where he's from. How do they tell them? Humans tell their stories through images on a screen or through written word. They cannot tell stories like Martians can, where emotions can be pinned down and named.
Humans, for all their books and poems, cannot name their feelings sometimes.
And maybe that's why she likes it. That way of describing something without naming it. You can convey an emotion and have someone else make it their own to understand.
Martians push their feelings on to others, with no misunderstanding.
He brings back a tablet from his home, where the images move and transform and it's all very different from human television, and gives her a story his mother used to tell him.
(She wants to ask for that story again.)
When Artemis died in the simulation, something started scratching at the back of her head.
No.
Not scratching.
It's a soft pain, nearly a throb, not really a thrum.
An echo of a burn.
"How…"
She jumps at the sound of someone else's voice.
It's a few days after the failed simulation. They've been together nearly everyday, but they don't talk.
It's Robin, slumped over the island counter, mouth pulled down into a soft frown. He's staring at the oven.
"How can you bake if you're afraid of fire?" he asks. "Like, does the heat bother you?"
He doesn't sound like he needs an answer. He-they, with all their eyes on her now-just want a reprieve from their thoughts.
She looks down to the cookie dough arranged haphazardly on the sheet.
She opens the oven with her mind, puts the tray in too, and closes the door.
"I don't have to be bothered by it," she says.
And they're silent once more.
There's a few more close calls, a few more tears, a little more fear, and none of them are training simulations.
The scratching turns into a slow burn.
Sometimes, when Megan feels lonely or worried, she reaches out and touches her teammates minds, just to feel.
It's a comfort to know they're there.
(She wonders how they deal with loneliness.)
Lex Luthor takes control of Conner (a program ingrained in him during his CADMUS days) and that slow burn ignites.
She no longer fears.
They were wrong about Burning Martians feeling nothing.
They can feel everything, they are connected to everyone, feel the pain the fear the sadness the rage
Of her team. Her friends. Her family.
The thing is, a Burning Martian's motives and desires aren't affected by these things.
They just want to watch everything burn.
Conner's face is buried in the plane of Megan's stomach, choking and shaking, whispering "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. Please. Please."
Robin stands above them, his smile shaky and relieved as he tells Megan, "Artemis is pissed about her hair, y'know."
She visits Kaldur before he's taken down to Atlantis for treatment. (She holds back tears, avoids looking at the burn scar on his hand.)
"Thank you," she chokes out, trying to smile. She's relieved, so relieved that they're okay. That they're still with her. Artemis wasn't that mad about her hair, cropped so short not only by the flames but by Wally's poor barber skills. "Thank you for finding me."
And still loving me. Accepting me.
He smiles and takes her hand in his scarred one and squeezes.
"Can…Can you please tell me that story again? The first one I asked you for?"
His voice is a little hoarse, but he tells them all a good story anyway.