"How long has it been now?" J'onn perked at the sound of another's voice behind him, a rich green, older martian than himself asked sternly. He could tell from just their age alone that they were seasoned, though looking back to meet his superior, he was made certain of his assumption, if the aged garbs and worn expression upon the other's face was anything to go off of. There was a certain amount of urgency in their tone that wasn't betrayed by their wearing features, but the former knew better than to waste anymore time pondering a response when he knew too well what they were referring to.

He answered accordingly.

"Six days now. She's working as quickly as she can." He answered slowly, moving his hands along the solid, if old, surface of his meager desk in his meager office; it was much more than what his kind would have been afforded in any other case. Despite its modest appearance, this room had served him well, much more as he looked over the slurry of documents that laid in haphazard piles that he'd been chiefly responsible for, the martian having opened each, read them, and discarded them in barely organized piles. He didn't bother trying to sort through them, much less organize any at that, seeing as they all said about the same thing.

All requests for her.

All of them potential notes on her performance.

More interrogations, more demands for her attention.

Though the influx of work was certainly making things easier, he noted, looking at his own far cleaner clothes than that of the wandering voice at the door of his chamber, J'onn couldn't ignore the nagging worry in the back of his mind as his answered swam in his head.

Six days...Six days since I've seen her..., He thought to himself, feeling...strangely guilty at the thought of it. It was only supposed to have taken a day or two, really...though things tended to stretch on, he remembered.

War...took time, after all.

The other martian tilted their head, their expression questioning.

"Oh, good then. T'aoom found a few more Low Bloods on the outskirts. Some screaming about liberation or something; absolutely ridiculous." The green martian started casually, flicking a dismissive hand to the speculative group of unknown travelers that J'onn was almost certain looked just like himself: white...impure...and the lowest of the low.

That much was inscribed in the very fabric of their society, and that very cause, that natural, immovable order, was precisely why he remained stock still and silent, nodding placidly along as the other continued on, throwing back their head with a crude laugh that, by the younger martian's own admission, felt decidedly out of place, given the subject matter. But J'onn knew better than to voice this less-than-amicable opinion; he'd learned very quickly that to remain quiet was to be agreeable.

To be placid meant living longer, too.

"Have you ever seen a group of wretches so obsessed about the idea of it? I mean, really; a mess of white, low-blood ilk, thinking their, what? Equal? More than the stains on our world? Isn't that odd?" The green martian continued on, more than incredulous at the idea. The former cleared his throat, smiling a touch awkwardly at the questions that made his green skin feel even heavier against his bones. It was no secret at all that there was...a way of things, living on their sovereign world under the rule of the Red Family, as many of his kind had called them. That sacred order was but a foundational tenant of everything that it meant to be a martian, and that same foundational tenant gave J'onn every reason to simply nod in agreement, yet in every way...it wasn't as if he didn't agree.

From the moment that any of the low-blood, the white kin, were born, they were less than all others. It wasn't a difficult concept to understand, not if one come to realize that quickly understanding that idea was the key to not being flayed and strung up like a flag pole for all to gawk at, a keystone punishment that he'd more than grown familiar with during his many years upon the face of the red planet. Next to the crime of simply existing that unholy shade was cavorting with them, sharing spaces with them.

Courting them.

To count and name the likely thousands that had seen a similar fate, all because they'd forgotten their place, and much more, made that forgetfulness known, was an impossible task, even for someone as observant and knowing as J'onn himself, and so he quickly made short-work of finding every means possible of living.

Even if it meant smiling in the face of every death that came from this bloody war that, frankly, he thought, never should have been in the first place. A war wrought by little voices that had forgotten not to shout too loudly...lest they wake the beast of their monarchy, just as they had now.

And this...this was their consequence.

Humiliation...then death.

"Ah, yes, G'arrunn C'atana. It is...very foolish. We are just glad that we are able to...quell the loud ones. Their idiocy is to be punished, and M'gann and I are just two parts of this greater effort; we are honored and thankful." J'onn answered, ensuring that he applied the honorific to their name. Respect was more than life for a martian, and more than respect, was the application of that respect to those that were most deserving. C'atana was a G'arrunn, a green martian, those higher voices that gave orders, and though he was amongst that sort, those granted skin in a range of emerald tones, he...was in a unique position.

And unfortunate one.

J'ann had made easy work of their reputation on their homeworld following her...unsavory union with the A'ashenn, M'gann's father.

A low-blood.

A stain upon their lineage, their honor, he'd been told too many times to count. And each time, just from the proximity of their failure, he was dirtied, too.

It didn't help that M'gann herself had inherited the curse of her father's skin upon her own, marking from birth, and him all the same, it would seem. Where once he'd have been C'atana's equal, and perhaps superior, in rank...reputation upon their world was everything. One misstep, he found, and all the work of generations could come undone...one's rank and order in the chain be damned. As such, it was his directive to follow as well as he could.

As often as he could.

The law was immovable, their words immutable, and C'atana nodded, grinning at the former's empty affirmations, something, the white martian found, wasn't hard so long as he insulted his kind enough.

They loved to hear him do that, disparage her people. To belittle their desperation. To feed their anger with justifications based on their inferiority.

He'd gotten good at it, too.

Being their talking piece, their...agreeable pet.

He'd allowed himself to be, after all. And he'd...shaped M'gann into one, too, all the same.

"Punished, indeed. In fact, we'll be needing you and your pla'sh'taal for the new ma'al that were found. Come." The older martian commanded, and without so much as a look, as if expecting J'onn to follow without protest, they began down the hall, though the other, younger martian was left reeling. Rushing behind the other martian, J'onn swallowed thickly, his rush of anxious thought filling his mind as he kept pace with the shorter man, though this, on account of his height and stature, was hardly a difficult task. Six days had to have been the longest that she'd been left to her...work, he knew, with most of their contracts ending after only three, maybe four, but six?

That was too much, even for someone as powerful as her.

"Ah...I...could this maybe...could we...wait?" He started, quietly, almost imperceptibly, and just as quickly, he remembered himself.

Even as a fellow G'arrunn, it wouldn't do to speak so boldly. It wasn't in his right to make demands.

Both of which he'd done, and the older martian was quick to stop, frozen in the singular pathway leading down the ratty corridor to which J'onn had been found.

C'atana just as quick to double back, as if he himself were unsure he'd heard J'onn correctly.

"Excuse me?" He began, turning to face the pale martian with a quick turn of the heal that was practiced, refined, through what must have been years of training within the upper ranks of the greater armies of their world. The force of his glare was only matched by rippling muscle that seemed all to ready to lurch forward with punishment for what had been a grave lapse in judgement on J'onn's part. No quicker than he'd managed to utter the words, the younger man was bowing his head in steep apology that couldn't be lowered enough, though his fears and apprehension didn't give his concerns pause as he rushed to elaborate his point as best as he could, seeing as the other's patience, in no uncertain terms, had all but dissolved in a moment's time.

"Oh! Ah'greel'ta, G'arrunn. I don't mean to impose myself upon you, I just...she's been working for so long and so hard...I worry for her. She must be tired and hungry and - ...I just want to make sure she has to time to...recooperate between...sessions." The young martian explained gently, lowering his head even more with an aversion of his eyes, a submission, he felt, was necessary, to stumble back into the good graces of the temperamental man in front of him. Much of their kind didn't take well to disrespect, much less from those deemed...less than.

Much less those that had been sullied by the hands of a false union.

And those, in his case, were made no higher than the A'ashenn themselves. As far as anyone was concerned, he...was one now. A low-blood, one of those lowly ilk that had undone their work to the high family for all those years; it took everything in J'onn not to grimace with anger at the thought.

He could control himself and his impulses for he was, of course, a beacon of moderation and restraint as it didn't do well to lose one's temper. Not when there was so much at stake at all time.

At his apologetic self-correction, C'atana frowned, standing up slightly to regard the question with a dismissive grunt.

"Well, we have greater matters to worry about than so low-blood's appetite. She can be fed after she finishes this lot; this isn't up for debate. You remember your debt, your family's debt, do you not?" The smaller martian reminded him coldly, licking his lips with a slight, snarling grin as J'onn shrank at the reminder of their...dues.

The cost of mercy following J'ann's mistake.

The cost of that low-blood, wretched A'ashenn, M'aatt.

The cost of M'gann's birth and the curse she was made to bear.

How could he forget? They certainly wouldn't allow him to, that was for sure.

"I...of course I haven't. I would never. We will never forget your mercy, or that of the crown's. We thank you." He began, relenting immediately from his efforts to speak against the wishes of the other. He knew implicitly where the line in each of his conversations could be drawn, and this was no different as, no sooner than he'd conceded to the other's will, C'atana continued unabated, a fury awakened by J'onn's words alone.

"Are you certain, you haven't, Tr'aa? We've given you and that little wretch you call a niece lodging, fed you, clothed you, granted your lot a semblance, an inking, of that once shattered honor your family once had...and the best you could do is repay us with questions and inquiries and nonsense that is far above your right to ask." Closing the distance between the two of them, the smaller martian was unafraid of J'onn's towering height, the cutting, dry tone of his voice all that was required to extinguish any notion of defiance in the former. It was true, that much he knew, all that he'd said.

Upon the eve of J'ann and M'aatt's deaths, and the subsequent scattering of all of their children into the far corners of their planet, it was just he and M'gann that were left in the crosshairs, needing handouts and pardons, and most of all, mercy, to simply make it by after all was said and done. It is no understatement to say that they'd been saved by the very had that holds them so low upon the totem pole...but who was he to complain?

He had no place criticizing, and much less biting, the hand that literally feeds them.

Even a simple order such as this alludes you, Tr'aa J'onn; I surely hope you do not make this little...quirk...a habit. It could end badly for the two of you, don't you think?" C'atana chided, and with a curt, careful nod, J'onn agreed.

"Yes, G'arrunn. I understand." He responded, and with a smirk, the former could barely contain the streak of satisfaction in himself in having subjugated the other, that much was clear, but the younger of the two of them, J'onn himself, wouldn't take the bait. It wouldn't be the first time that one of his own kind had made it their business to make him uncomfortable at every turn. Perhaps it was some crude form of retribution for having been part of the grave sin that had marred the name of M'orzz's, or maybe...they just like to see him squirm, to know that to choose between one's pride and death, or indignity in relent, was one of the most harrowing and compromising positions a martian could be put in, and to see him placed there again and again...it was likely amusing.

In a strange way, he couldn't really blame this, admittedly, baser impulse.

Because after all...how many times had he been on the other side? Putting down some hapless soul in some crude effort to punish them for something that had come to be of no fault of their own? How many others had begged for reprieve, only for him to deny it? It only felt different because now, instead of administering it...he was receiving.

He was the lowest of the low.

In a sense, he thought, it was all beautifully poetic. Ironic, even.

"Good. Now, if you haven't anymore questions, you will see to it that M'gann receives our new guests. Come, now." C'atana commanded, and lock-in-step, the two were off down the corridor again, this time, J'onn remained perfectly, completely, silent.

July 10th, 2010 - 12:13 PST

M'gann didn't understand.

Sitting up in her bed, the room remained as dark and cold as it had been the moment that she'd gotten back to it, shutting the door and sealing herself away from the warmer drafts as the space around her grew stale without motion. She hadn't moved from the bed since she'd gotten back, and it was no wonder why she hadn't, her warm eyes trapped in a hex of unblinking, caught in a cycle of listening to those words, his words, that had turned in her head for what seemed like hours now.

Perhaps it had been. It was hard to mind the time when her thoughts still swam and dipped between one extreme to the other as memory plagued her mind.

She could hear him still.

"Please...stop...you're...hurting...me..."Kon whimpered softly beneath her, sounding unlike himself, uttered with a voice that didn't belong to someone as big and strong as the kryptonian (or, rather, the half-kryptonian, if she could be clear), she would have liked to think. From the first moment that they'd met, the teen radiated power and presence that just acted with belligerent dissonance to the image of the teary-eyed, and frankly, pathetic boy that had all but cracked beneath her not to long ago. It almost took her a moment to realize that he'd even said anything at all, seeing how fragile and quiet his barely spoken words had been, nearly drowned in the heat and passion that had razed every one of her senses in the moment.

It was only between each sloppy, desperate motion that she made that she could make out the movement of his lips, even with having been numbed, and thereafter the sound of what could only be called a plea.

And a desperate one at that, all in the service of just one request: he wanted her to stop.

At the time, she figured she'd heard him wrong.

No, she was certain, then, that she had, though that wasn't the only reason. Not only was it already hard to hear him, a notion made worse by his lax mouth just barely making the words themselves, but it was very idea of it, the look on his face, the sound of his voice...all of it was antithetical to the idea that she'd had of him in her mind, however...sanitized it might have been. In her, relatively, clear mind, the sheer despair on his face, the echo of his lost voice...to think that someone that powerful, that...self-assured...would never utter such a pitiful sound, to look so utterly pathetic, and worse yet...to direct at her...the thought was unthinkable.

It almost made her laugh, imagining that someone as frail and delicate and unassuming as her...could ever bring harm to someone like Kon.

The thought was absurd.

But more than that? To think that he believed it, too...it didn't make sense.

As if he really thought that she was...harminghim in some way.

M'gann tried to smile, but frankly, she couldn't figure out what expression she was making at the moment, but it felt...wrong. As if it were off-kilter by just enough to render unknown to even her mind.

She didn't hurt him...she couldn't hurt him...could she?

Considering her hands, she didn't miss their slight tremble; despite her efforts to still them, to regain control of even just this aspect of herself, they refused to listen to her, shaking harder as her chest heaved.

Her teeth clenched, and so had her hands, the girl unable to reconcile the horrid confusion that ate at her thoughts, even more since she couldn't fathom what might have made her...feel this, whatever this emotion was, rooted so deeply within her that it didn't seem to have an end. It was realized in just a single question, manifested by a settling confusion that wouldn't resolve no matter how hard she tried to deny it.

How could things have gone so wrong?

How?

How could she have allowed things to devolve so far that literally the worst case scenario had come to pass no more than just a few days into meeting and courting who she was so, so certain would have been hers and hers alone? This wasn't simply a hiccup, or a diverting path, but an outright failure, she thought, gripping her arms tightly as she held herself firm.

This was wrong, it had all gone so wrong -

But then a thought struck her.

Had it?

Hadit gone wrong?

There had to be a plan at all for things to go 'wrong' in the sense that she was thinking that they had, but pondering the question, could she even say that she had any notion of an idea or a thought, or even any amount of consideration over what she should even do would be generous in itself. She couldn't even say that she'd thought farther than just...having him, whatever that was supposed to mean, and strangely, she thought, she wasn't sure if she could say what that was meant to mean in the first place. She...didn't have anything to even regard as a thought on the subject.

There was no notion of a plan, a thought, any intention.

This, she realized with a stroke of surprise and terror...was purely instinctual.

She...hadn't thought at all.

She'd just...acted. Like an animal, she pounced, no mind or consideration to the potential consequences.

Nothing like that, she recalled with a sting...had even occurred to her in the slightest.

This, she realized, wasn't anything like what she would have done in any other circumstance. The idea was alien to her; she was usually always so...collected, so considerate of her thoughts, her actions, her words, her...everything...but today was anything but. Whilst at the time, M'gann figured, face heating at the memory of the bliss that had once been and that warm, terrible throbbing between her legs that echoed with unmet needs, she thought that she was taking the right course of action, that might have been her imagination. A fixation and figment of her desires that even she wasn't even sure she understood too well, blossoming in violence and horror that, despite her knowledge that one was meant to have reservations about the...hurt she might have inflicted, the thought just didn't...click.

Her breath hitched.

She was supposed feel horrible, she screamed at herself, burying her head into her arms, her form rippling from the tension in her mind, and she knew at once that it threatened to destabilize if she didn't get a grip on herself.

But that was becoming harder and harder with each moment, seeing as her mind was rolling in waves.

No, that was right.

The young martian wouldn't have been shy (though no doubt less ashamed) to admit that maybe...maybe she hadn't been thinking at all. That she'd all but behaved more akin to a vacuous beast than a respectable martian such as herself.Bad, bad,that little voice whispered, the one that had tried guide her before appearing to think much the same, tearing into her with ceaseless criticism.

What was I thinking?! That was too much, now he'll never talk to me again. He'll never want me!,It yelled at her in her own voice, and the idea of it, the proposition of consequences that severe and immediate terrified her, far more than she thought she'd ever felt as the musing turned over in wretched cycles in her head. It was even worse, M'gann realized with a stroke of guilt and dense hindsight, that this was all her doing, wasn't it? I'lla'ta J'onn always did say that her impulses, her...thoughts, would be the thing to undo her, yet still, the girl found, she was having a terribly hard time taking that advice.

Not that her own conscious thoughts hadn't tried to tell her the same thing, to ward her from this worse path by the sheer quality of their foresight alone that she, M'gann berated herself, was too dense to see. She didn't listen to what it had said before; patience...she was supposed to have been patient, subtle...just enough to work her way in, to navigate the annals of his mind carefully, methodically, just as she always had with her other friends...but that...that wasn't what happened.

That...wasn't what happened at all.

Everything had just been a blur, a slurry of screaming and anger and feelings that she couldn't reconcile (or perhaps, hadn't even tried to) with reason that would have kept things from...escalating that quickly, that intensely. She could sense it still, the outreach of her powers as she overpowered the boy with such minimal effort, with such natural ferocity, that she'd scared herself for a moment in the breaths leading up to and after she'd grabbed his neck with her hands. That sort of...reprimanding had only been reserved for those special few back on Mars, her home, that just...refused to cooperate. Every so often, she remembered fondly, those special friends would need...correcting.

Careful discipline that was she was taught and allowed to administer when they refused her friendship, her kindness; in her mind, they just needed to be taught how behave, how real friends were supposed to act, you know? Some were easy, she recalled.

Those were the ones that were just fine with a little hit here, a pinch there, a poke and prod everywhere else to get them back in mind. It made them stop saying the bad words, it made them talk to her...tell her their darkest secrets, just like friends were supposed to do.

Then there were the talking ones, the ones that were...meaner.

They needed more.

Sometimes it was pull of the arm out of the socket, the bend of finger until it snapped - all simple things, she thought, but even they could be molded back into shape with enough patience, love, and care. There were only so many fingers and toes that the could spare until they improved.

Then, she thought with a cold brush of her fingertips to her open palm where her fingernails had burrowed into her hand, there were the bad ones.

Kon...Kon was a bad one.

Thinking about him again, there was the fitting touch of his skin beneath her psychic hold, all of which were extensions of herself. Each psychokinetic hand equal in the applied pressure to his flesh that rendered him silent. At once, without so much as touching him, she mused, she'd managed to make everything so calm...just as she had with the rest of them.

If anything, she thought, she'd been rather gentle. M'gann knew that not many of her bad friends would have gotten that same, kind treatment.

He'd beenallowedto breathe.

She didn't takeanyof his skin.

Heck, she didn't evenbreakanything.

But even with that, the young girl thought bitterly, she shouldn't have had to hold him like that! It should have never gone that far in the first place. She felt herself scowl slightly, rushing, warm blood heating her shoulders at the thought of it as blistering agitation took the place of the shreds of guilt and fear that had once claimed her thoughts.

Hedidn't have to let it go that far.

His reaction, hisoverreaction, she told herself, was why any of that happened. Thinking back to it, all she'd done, the girl remembered, was try to be nice to him, to help him, tocarefor him, and what had he done in return? He was mean to her, defensive, cold, distant, andviolent, too; what was shesupposedto do?! It wasn't...she wouldn't have had to do that, she thought -her mind screamed- if he would have just...just -

Listened. He's mad at me for just trying to be kind. It's not like I wanted to do it! He was screaming at me! What...w-what was I supposed to do,Her mind spat, sounding more childish, yet so sinister, by the second. If anything, she continued as her hands grew clammy with anger, she never did anything that she didn't deem necessary, and this was no different.

That was right, wasn't it? It had all started from that morning. From the start, he'd been unpleasant, rude; she was being nice, she thought. It wasn't out of the question to correct a bad behavior when it was noticed, and she thought she was.

No.

No, sheknewshe was, that she was doing the good thing by trying to fix it; it was him. He was the one that was making things more complicated. It wasn't that big of a deal to read someone else's mind, and his reaction...it wasn't necessary. It was him, she affirmed, she convinced herself; he pushed her. It was him, alwayshim.

He'd pushed her. Made her reach. From the kitchen, trying to end their conversation, their bonding.

From the main hub, yanking his arm away from her, saying mean things.

From the room, not so long ago. Yelling at her, screaming at her, refusing her help, refusing her. Pushing her.

That was right. He waspushingher.

Pushing her patience and good will to the brink, just like everyone did. She couldn't just let him...hurt her. Because she was hurt. Kon was...hurting her, and she couldn't understand 't he see how much he was causing her...her pain? Her sorrow? It was as if he didn't even notice how much she was affected, as if her feelings didn't evenmatterto him. After trying to get to know him, to talk to him, to make sure that he was comfortable, to make sure that they would get close...all for him to reject it because...she didn't know why.

She...didn't like not understanding this.

And more than that, it just made her angrier.

And only the bad ones made her angry. He was being very,verybad.

"He...he doesn't get to treat me like that. Especially not after...after we..."She started under her breath, blushing lightly, though still, her skin felt cold, ice cold, as if pricked with frost and death as again, just like before, his words rang like estranged bells, throwing her thoughts asunder with every tone.

"You're hurting me." They rang.

"YOU'RE HURTING ME." They blared, making her ears bleed.

"Y O U ' E."They screamed, and yelled, and cried, and bellowed, over and over again as her urge to scream back grew tenfold, but she shook with barely held restraint, green skin flushing from emotions she couldn't understand flooded her.

But they weren't good. Something in the way his pretty face - his beautiful, wonderful face - practically begged her for mercy -MERCY HE DIDN'T DESERVE-his unbelievable misery so palpable that it made even her squirm with discomfort, was wrong. So utterly wrong that it was impossible, unfathomable for her to ignore what was more than obvious to even her that wished, that dreamed, for a way to deny it all...but could find nothing to say in her own defense.

He...didn't enjoy it.

He...didn't enjoy it at all.

And that alone...was more horrible than anything else that she could think of.

Even after after thing that he'd made her do, after all the nasty things he'd said, there was nothing more horrid than the idea that even that...wouldn't have been enough. That...for their first time, her first time, something that she'd gifted to him...would be taken as ungratefully as he'd managed to.

Because that look, that...sound...wasn't at all how she imagined her first love and time to start, and certainly not how she expected it to end.

That was the greatest crime...he could have committed.

From everything that she'd learned about intimacy and loving and sex, you weren't, as far as she understood, supposed to cry. You weren't supposed to look scared or confused or tired; you were supposed to smile and reach out and hold each other, weren't you? When someone offered themselves to you, one was supposed to honor that with passion, she remembered with a stroke of such acute bitterness that her lip split beneath her teeth at the thought of it...of that right having been stolen from her as, yet again...he couldn't see past himself. He was the worst of them, she thought...the baddest of the bad, the sort that needed...more.

More help to get better, and nothing more than this was needed to see why.

She'd seen this all before.

Her old friends, in those quiet, dark places between when they would 'talk', or rather...between the times that she'd make them.

She'd listen sometimes. To the noises they made, to their screams of pleasure as they sought some kind of release in the midst of the war, to find comfort in each other in the scant moments that they thought that they were alone, blissfully unaware that she would have her sensitive ears pressed to their cell doors.

Sometimes she would watch.

Sometimes...sometimes she would make them do it, too, to show their love in-front of her so that she would know what to do when the time came for her to find her 'one'. Her...lover. Her...mate.

Her world.

Because that was what that was.

And what this was, too.

Love.

They were...showing each other love. They chose each other to love. They were making love. They did it all the time. That's what you did with someone you loved. Youlovedthem. Youtouchedthem. You held them. You gave them...everything, and they were supposed to do the same.

That's...that's how it worked.

Yeah, she thought, pulling her knees tighter to her chest.

That's what happened.

And that...that's what they did.

Her and Kon.

Her andherKon.

Love. They'd made love. Even if he tried to deny it, they had. Because that's what they were meant to do...he didn't get to refuse that.

He couldn't refuse the memory of their bodies intertwined.

Their heat, their very essences, merging into one, could he?

Despite his words still echoing in her mind, that same, jaded bliss crossed over it, too, blotching out the fine details of the unpleasant emotions that budded deep in her chest at the look upon his face. How could she forget that touch his hands, guided by her own? The sheer power locked by still muscles? His smooth, unmarred skin? Sure, she might have lost her temper for a moment there, might have hit him a few times, but...that was just it, right? They'd still done it, as far as she could tell, and though they stopped far, far sooner than she'd hoped, he was just as guilty as she was. She didn't force him to do anything he didn't want to do; after all, he had to have enjoyed it at least a little for him to leave himself inside of her, the girl hummed sweetly as she reached down and palm her raw, still puckered flesh, slipping a finger within her warm walls to take up just a bit of the pouring seed that had begun to leak on her once pristine sheets.

The touch of her freezing fingers was brief as she brought her hand back to her face, and noted the sticky lines of white that dripped between each digit.

She smiled.

See?,She thought to herself as she smiled, inspecting the viscous fluid upon her hand,He had to have wanted this, too. Look how excited he got...he can't fool me,The martian continued.

He wanted it.

He was just...beingdifficult, that's all.

That...was all.

But that could change.

No, She thought, It would change.

It had to.

It was too late to go back to what was, and would she want to? She'd already given him everything she was, every part of herself...it was enough in her eyes to prove that this...this was the right thing to do. And if anything, this was all that could happen, now.

Because after all, from here on out, how could he deny her? He'd see that this, what they'd done, was all just a step in the process for them, see? The very fact that she anything left of him...proved that he just didn't understand what he wanted.

You didn't make the white stuff unless you liked it.

So he liked it.

He'd came enough times to make that clear enough to her, hadn't he?

She opened her mouth.

In martian culture, the first time one takes in the seed of their beloved upon their tongue and swallows it is a marker of their bond. She could remember well the teachings in the old rites of the priests and priestesses of their world, scrawled in texts far older than herself, but that only made their words all the more immutable in her mind. It was two-fold, she knew, with her having to return to the favor to Kon himself in the form of her...essence, the girl blushing wildly at the thought of it, a shimmer of embarrassment taking her at her brash decision. However, she couldn't help it, the brimming smile that crossed her lips as she recalled that she'd done much the same before, her still warm flesh throbbing at the memory of her marking him just a few hours prior.

To have stood beside the one that she'd honored with that rite...it only stung more to think that he'd been so awful to her.

He should be thankful that she was willing to do that just for him.

Only...for him.

But she had to focus. She couldfixhim later, but for now, this took precedence. After all, this only worked when it was still...fresh. There was no telling when there would be another chance to get more ofhim.

There was no time to waste, though, she mused darkly, it wouldn't have to be too long now until they would be able to do this again.

Something dawned on her.

It had been easy enough to get him to relent this time, hadn't it?

What was stopping her from just... urging him again? From just...quieting him so that they could share a moment in the way they had just a time before?

But something else came to mind. It would have been so much better to get him to want to, wouldn't it? Her mind couldn't let go of the image of his pale eyes, pools of vibrant water, so shaken with fear and anguish that it made her sick to her stomach, worsened only by the sound of his voice.

That pain, that sorrow...he just...didn't understand. None of it was true; he'd enjoyed it, he did! He just needed to learn how to see it the right way, that his reluctance, his. -FEAR- apprehension was just him being bad. But mates didn't treat each other the way that he had treated her, she thought; she didn't want to have to make himdoanything.

She just had to teach him how to do it right.

She had to teach him how to be good.

He should...want this -and he would learn how to- , just as the her friends had all those times they thought she wasn't watching, when they thought that they were truly alone...only to be unaware that they had her eye all along. She wanted that passion, the desperate desire for touch that they had for each...and why shouldn't she have it? After everything she'd done for him, the effort that she'd put forth to know about his, frankly, uneventful life, to get into the empty head of his...this was the least he could do to show her even a fraction of the love and attention and care she had to him.

HE OWED HER THAT MUCH, DIDN'T HE?

' T H E ?

So even if she had to scoop out the bad from his head, even if she had to push him, beat him, bend him...break him...he would see.

They always did.

The bad ones were always the funnest to play with. And they were always the most satisfying ones to make better, to fix. Because Kon just needed to be fixed.

He would be fixed.

He had to see, because after this? After they were bonded...there was no turning back for them.

But why would she want to?

This was meant to be.

Eying the pale fluid with a glint of excitement, her heart lurched. She'd only ever seen this happen once or twice on Mars, with those that still had enough themselves left to do something this sacred...it was more than she herself could bear. Opening her mouth wider, she felt her fingers dot her trembling lips in a haze of anticipation, even when his now cold and drying seed remained slathered in a mess of white upon them.

"Mah'ssh'kaataa...mah'ssh'kaataa",She whispered under her breath, over and over, as if calling to some hailing spirit around her in sacred communion, and for all M'gann knew, she had been. Her tongue trailed across her lips, taking up the stilling fluid with slow, darting movements as immediately, a wash of salt burned her tongue. It tasted nothing as she imagined it, though to be fair, she wasn't exactly sure what she'd expected it to favor in terms of flavor, though it was certainly bitter. Despite this, she ran her trembling fingers over her tongue before closing her lips around them and taking up the rest of the fluid in one go.

"Mah'ssh'kaataa..."She pulled her fingers from her mouth, relishing the taste of his seed.

"Mah'ssh'kaataa..."Her mouth closed.

She smiled.

Then swallowed, and like that, in a breath, it was down her throat. And just as quickly, she realized, as a sense of excitement and anticipation stirred in her chest, that she'd done it.

They were -

"Mates...we're...mates..."M'gann whispered incredulously to herself with a look to her mostly cleaned hand, though in reality, it hadn't really sank in yet. Where she thought there might have been an immediate click in her mind that this was true, the feeling was far more subtle. In fact, there was a moment where, after the taste of his seed began to subside in her mouth and upon her tongue, she thought maybe she'd...done it wrong. However, she knew she'd followed it verbatim to what she'd seen before.

She swallowed again.

No, She thought, blushing a bright green that made her almost radiate in the dark room, even in the waning light.

They'd been blessed.

They were mates.

Now...and forever.

But then her mind shifted.

Kon was still...wrong. She couldn't tell him this yet, not until he was made...better. Not until she could figure out how to fix him, first. Still fresh in her mind were the visages of his anger, raw and unjust, she thought, but not impossible to work with. Bad behaviors could be corrected, and this was especially true as she'd worked with even worse than him, if she could remember correctly. As his mate, his lover, his world just the same as he was her own, it was M'gann's responsibility to see to it that he would be...fixed, if they were to be together, especially now that they were...bonded.

And they would have all the time in the world to get started. And this time, she would take her time.

This time...she would do it right.

Though for now...it was enough to just have this little part of him, she thought, raising her skirt to look upon herself, and she stared fondly at the mess of semen that poured from her body.

Just this was enough for now.

And she reached down again, pooling a bit of it into her palm as she flexed a bit, pushing it out of her cavity before lifting it to her mouth to drink of him deeply, slowly...fondly.

She'd already come to love the taste of him.

HerKon.

Herlove.

And for this one moment, they were together...even when they were apart.

-(Elsewhere)-

Knock Knock Knock

"K-Kon..."

The stone above his head was dark, stretching up like black, winding tendrils, gripping his eyes as he started up and up, at the pool of oblivion overhead. There was a certain comfort in it, allowing himself to get lost in it as his body swam free of his control, a disconnection he didn't fight as he remained still upon his bed. Though he couldn't move, it wasn't as if he wanted to.

It was calm. Warm. So very, very war -

Knock Knock Knock

"Kon..."

Superboy blinked as the voice came again. It was...heavy, sticking like glue between his ears and at the back of his eyes as the dark above him wavered with pools of light. Pale dots and splotches here and there that broke the monotony of peace that had called him to stillness for what felt like ages, an eternity of blissful silence broken when the sound became louder. Something in it felt strangely familiar, almost painfully so as his skin began to tingle, as if prodding electric were stinging the air.

He could feel his hair standing on end.

Knock Knock Knock

"Hnn~ h-hah..."

His mouth cracked open, as if priming himself to speak, but there was only silence, his throat too tight, too taut, to make a sound.

What...what was that?

He would've flinched at the feeling of fingers dressing his face and upper body with feathery touches that seemed to coalesce from the very darkness around him, but their shape, their fervor, theirdesperation, was too familiar to have been imagined. It continued along paling, parlor skin as the color and flush of his body as shocked from him, dressing in dower kisses and clawing marks that the clone desperately tried to pull away from, but he was uselessly, terrifyingly, limp. In every sense, he was left to the mercy of prying grips that dotted his sides and hips.

They were drawing lower. Lower and lower and -

"S-stop..." He felt himself cry softly to himself, wide, unblinking eyes struggling to free themselves from the grip of the ceiling as he felt his clothes melt away. First his shirt, then his pants, then his -

"Kon...hnn~..."

The voice almost seemed to hover just above him, a lingering heaviness on his chest and upon his face as the touches became more ravenous, more desperate, fazing into a disparate image of a person, a hazy afterimage, that flickered in and out of view as if leaned down, peppering crude bites upon his skin. Their lips almost seemed...soft, though their teeth were unkind, leaving bleeding marks in a haphazard trail that made him flinch with each one; the image above should have only been fractal light, but it was solid, cold, deathly in sensations that made him want to scream...but he could only manage the smallest of sounds.

His body moved on its own, a quick jolt, at the touch of something where it shouldn't have been. Kon's eyes were still firm, though, trapped and enraptured high above him even when the breathing, the gasping, became louder.

Even when he felt some warm collapse over him.

Even when the smacking started.

Even when it went on and on and on, seemingly without end. Still, though, they simply stared, unmoved.

Still unmoved.

His mouth opened again.

And he made a sound.

"It...hurts." He whispered true, eyes welling with tears. The light above him, solid and cold, seemed to smile at his words.

It leaned down to kiss him almost tenderly, smearing blood against his lips.

And in that light made manifest, he could see her staring back.

M'gann never left.

Knock Knock

"Kon!" And just like that, he was awake, thrown from one nightmare, and into the next.

Someone was knocking on the door.

"Superboy. It's me. Think we could talk for a minute?" Another voice - not M'gann's voice, Kon was quick to notice, eyes darting to the steel door to the hall from his room with a hitched breath - called from the other side, and the teen found himself unable to relax. Before he'd even went to move, he noted just as quickly that his head was pounding, the clone reaching up to cup his forehead as pangs of sharp, stabbing pain forced his eyes closed, groaning under his breath from both the fatigue and aching that had settled over the majority of his body. The knocking continued, vigorously now, and just to be sure, Superboy stretched his senses with great effort, extending his sense of smell to ensure that it truly wasn't her, but found that his usually sharp inclinations were...blunted somehow.

They were dull enough, he noticed, that he couldn't really get a hold on who it might have been, but the voice sounded like...Batman. Sitting up, he winced, grabbing his mid-section as the muscles there cried in protest; she'd really done a number on him. As such, he was slow to get up, taking each leg carefully from the bed and swinging them around to seat himself on the edge of the long-dried mattress; as he did so, he could distinctly make out the loud crunch of the sheets beneath him with each movement that he made. Looking down at them, the room being bright enough to illuminate the dark blue fabric, it was easier to make out the massive smears of white and clearer fluid that had been left behind after they -

He stopped himself, cold and dead in that train of thought as his stomach bubbled dangerously, and just like that, his seemingly forgotten nausea came with noxious vengeance that. Even with his body having been idle and wrenched with discomfort, he was sent to his feet quickly, each muscle straining to compensate as he rushed to the bathroom and threw himself over the toilet before bile forced itself from his mouth. A notable hint of sweetness only made it worse, his diaphragm heaving with so much force that his throat throbbed and his eyes watered, despite the fact that he didn't have anything else to spit up, having done that job the same morning, hours before in the kitchen where all of this started. His eyes widened at the marked clarity that, even still being limited, was clear to him, but he couldn't focus on it much; he was too occupied with ridding his mouth of that perverse taste, and spitting into the bowl, he closed his eyes and using his hand to wipe his mouth. Kon-el tipped back, collapsing back onto the freezing, sleek floor and jolted at terrible cold that rushed through his body, and he remembered immediately that he was still naked.

His face flushed with embarrassment, but he snapped up at the sound of Batman knocking again.

The man was beginning to sound impatient.

"Superboy, we need to talk. You've had more than enough time to brood about what happened, but this is important." The older man shouted, rousing Kon into action, but the teen couldn't ignore the anxiety that gripped him.

There was no way that he could answer the door looking...like this, he thought, huffing quietly between his teeth as he turned from his bedroom door and to the toilet, sighing heavily with each move he made to stand and flush it. It wouldn't do to leave traces behind that would seem...suspicious, the teen assumed, listening to the cycle of water in the bowl for a moment, his stomach still unsettled. Stepping over to the sink, it didn't help that, now that he was a bit more aware, he could feel just how dirty he was. Something akin to a film of oil and sweat clung to his skin thickly, overlaying a general discomfort that was hard to disregard. He couldn't help how it was complimented, morbidly, by the patches of aches and bruising that covered the majority of his body. Standing in-front of the mirror, he almost didn't want to look at himself at all.

He couldn't imagine that he looked good, the teen hesitating to look upon himself as he kept his eyes firmly trained on the sink.

He probably looked disgusting.

No,his mind spat darkly, he was sure he did, and with that certainty, one had to wonder why, as he washed his hands, his eyes moved on their own. That sickening sense of revulsion was overpowered by a need to ground himself, he would have liked to think. Catching sight of himself, he almost didn't recognize who was looking back at him.

Most of them were gone now, the bruising, each impact, formed by invisible hands, were dark and faded for the most part, a keystone feature of his accelerated healing. He thought, as in any other case, that they would have taken weeks to heal, but in just a few hours, they had mostly disappeared...just as he figured they would have been. Apart from that, though, he noticed deep, red welts, bites, and scratches, lining his chest and arms where he reached up to touch them. However, he didn't dare run his hands along them, an image passing behind his eyes of the moments that they'd been etched finely into his skin by raking nails and gnawing teeth. He tensed, leaning forward onto the sink and gagging painfully into his hand; he tried to push them down.

The thoughts.

He didn't want to think about it, he didn't want to feel it…any of it. It was in his head. All of it was in his head. These thoughts...everything would be fine if he just...didn't think about it.

But that was just it.

His body remembered just fine. It itched in ways it didn't before as his eyes stared at his softened cock, noting the tangle of seed that had long dried in his pubic hair.

Something flashed in his mind.

He was there again, plastered to that bed when -

M'gann's walls clenched around him, squeezing his member tightly as she slid up and down, their skin clashing together with sloppy noises that echoed in his ears. The smacking was loud, no, it wasdeafening, he thought, and though he tried to hold it in, his numbed body tensed with release as he'd came for the third time...but she wasn't finished yet. She was drew her hands over his chest, exploring it with animalistic urges that made blood bud where her fingernails trailed roughly over delicate skin.

She leaned down to kiss him.

Seed dripped from her filled hole, seeping into his sweaty pubic hair.

She wasn't finished yet.

The thought, the realization echoed again, and again, in his head.

SHE WASN'T FINISHED YET -

Stop...s-stop...just...,Kon begged his mind, squeezing his eyes shut as if blocking out the thought, but really, it was just so he wouldn't have to look at himself anymore. He couldn't bear to, not if he wanted to keep his head in check.

He just needed to focus.

He needed to get the door.

Get dressed,the teen reminded himself, the notion acting as a lifeline of sorts to give him something to think about that wasn't...that. Averting his gaze and staring at the still running sink he'd left on, he tried to repress a rising numbness.

He would get dressed.

That was right.

One thing at a time.

Batman knocked again, louder this time, and Superboy knew he was out of time. It looked worse keeping the Bat waiting (he'd done so long enough), so he twisted the faucet to turn it off.

Turning to face the door, he called back, shrinking at the coarseness of his voice.

He sounded like shit. Pathetic.

Weak. So...fucking...weak.

"Uh, just...just give me a second! Using the bathroom; be right out!" He tried to appease the man, and for the most part, his answer bought him a minute or so more, but he knew he had to move quickly, if only to salvage what he could of the man's patience. He already didn't have the energy to take another verbal beating, but at the very least, he could try to make haste to ease the intensity in which it might come, seeing as it was his own fault that he was in this situation to begin with. Walking quickly from the bathroom, he couldn't have missed the sorry state that the room had been left in, and besides needing his clothes that were left in a careless pile on the bed, he knew for certain that they were probably soiled, too.

And if anything, he thought, the last thing he wanted on his body, overwhelming his senses, were things that wouldstinkof what happened, what they did...of what he was too weak to stop.

He shook his head.

Get dressed,his thoughts persisted, as if trying to redirect his focus.

That was right.

"Focus...f-focus..." Kon repeated to himself before eying the shards of wood and strewn about the floor now, cooled by neglect and the solid surface beneath his feet. Walking over to some of the articles, he managed to score a pair of light grey sweatpants and a red shirt, but his briefs were all but scattered and hidden in the mix of items upon the stony panels of his room. Of course, he could have looked for them, but he knew that he needed to get dressed and make this place look at least a bit presentable, he figured, sighing as he began to slip the clean clothes onto his body.

Raising his leg into the sweatpants, he hated it, the light, feathery touches of fabric that brushed against his softened cock, sending illicit feelings through him that he didn't want.

He didn't want anything to touch him.

Nothing.

He couldn't take anything else right now.

But he had to bear it.

Gritting his teeth, he braced himself against the rolling nausea that gave him pause with every movement that he made; it was worse, he noted, when he feel dried semen crunch and scrape against the front of his pants, there was a sudden desire to rip them from his skin.

It had never been a problem before.

He'd never felt...disgusted remaining in his own skin, yet, here he was, breathing sharply, quickly,panicking, of all things, as if he were being attacked, and all the same, there was never a moment he could think of that he felt so...sick of himself. Repulsed in every sense of the world unlike anything he ever thought he could comprehend.

He swallowed.

He...heneededto get a grip.

Could he be more pathetic? More sickening than he already was?

Get over yourself. Just get it over with. It's not...that big of a deal, Kon-el urged himself forward, forcing his muscles to move.

He was more than this, better than...acting like a little kid.

What was wrong with him?

He forced himself to ignore the perversions of his self-loathing to grab his shirt from the ground as he'd placed it there to put on his pants. Kon-el worked the long-sleeved garment over his skin, a selection made to conceal the still-healing dark blotches that lingered on his chest and arms from before; it wouldn't do to draw unnecessary attention to the situation, especially with someone as...astute, he understood immediately upon meeting him, as Batman was. Even in the short time that they'd known each other, Superboy got the impression that not much got past the man, not that it surprised him as not only had much of the info they had come from him, he's been told, but he thought Robin was much the same.

Investigative.

Curious.

Nosy, most of all.

And he couldn't afford him anything that might give him reason to dig. Especially not right now when he just wouldn't have the energy to try and make up a lie.

Adjusting the fabric by pulling and tugging here and there, he didn't have time to inspect it much before he started over to the door when he froze.

He didn't move, or rather, couldn't move, as a thought feel upon him like stone.

That was right.

The bed.

It was still -

Turning back to look at it, his eyes clearer than they had been before, took in the sight of it: the collection of ruined sheets, stains, and vile coatings of unnamable substances...it was far more repulsive than he remembered it to have been.

But even in trying to keep a clear head, his breath was caught in his throat, choking him with horrid presence as it flashed in his mind.

They'd just been there. He was there, lying still, letting her ra -

Focus...f-focus...I have to get this cleaned up. I don't have time to ruminate on that when...w-when I have to at least make sure this place looks somewhat decent. Come on, Kon. Get it together!,He shouted at himself before moving towards the bed, ignoring, forcibly, the flash of panic and sickness that grew in his throat at the proximity and stench that permeated the half of the room where the bed laid.

He wondered if he would ever get the smell to leave his nose, but he couldn't think about that now.

There were things that needed doing.

Kon-el was acutely aware that leaving it in such a state for Bruce's ever wandering eyes to make quick work of...the situation, and he wasn't sure he could take much humiliation, that much shame, that much turmoil at once, not right now, at least. Pushing his body to move, Superboy grabbed at the blanket that was still relatively clean, all things considered, and he figured that would serve well enough as a means of covering the sheets.

But after this, he'd have to throw them all in the chute, just to be sure.

It was best that all of this be covered up as soon as possible.

No one could know, Kon-el continued on, dressing the bed neatly, careful, even as his body begged for respite through rest.

No one could know.

Not a soul.

The shame, the humiliation, the guilt, that would rise from any of this getting out would probably kill him, he thought, swallowing thick the tension that collected in his throat at the mere consideration.

And thus it shall be that all of it should disappear.

And more than that, he didn't want to leave a trace of anything behind.

NOT...A...THING.

Finishing the task, he knew he wouldn't have time to really cover the wall where he'd punched it before, nor the shattered wood across the floor, but that, he thought, could be explained away. It was nothing for them to think that it was just some temperamental flair up that he'd had…seeing as they already thought he was prone to violence from the start…what would it hurt to use that idea to his advantage just this one time, he figured.

Couldn't be worse than what they already figured he would do.

At least, the room seemed…fine enough, or, in a state that not that many questions would be asked that wouldn't be justified (relating to the ruin of his furniture or the craters that'd he'd artfully made with his fists a few hours ago.

This should be fine...I can clean this up later, but for now, let's just get this over with..., And he walked back to the door, doing his best to ignore the brushing and crunching of dried semen in his public hair, or the thought that his mouth still tasted sweet, or the throbbing of his soft flesh as it tried to heal, still.

He straightened his posture, relaxed his face, adjusted his sleeves; everything to start to Oscar-worthy act that he was about to perform. It just needed to go on long enough to convince Batman that things were just fine (which they were, since nothing had happened, after all). All at once, his efforts would be realized as, with a turn of the knob of his door, he opened it, to peer out, giving him a slight look that he though was a smile. But really, it was probably a grimace.

No, it was definitely a grimace.

At his appearance, the Bat looked absolutely miffed, likely stemming from how long it had taken.

And he was vocal about it, too.

"Fifteen minutes, Superboy? What were you doing in there? It doesn't take that long to use the bathroom." He started, his tone sharp and scrutinizing in ways that made the teen's skin itch. He was hardly in the mood to be criticized, but he simply didn't have enough energy to fight him on the issue. Instead, he half-smiled, half-grimaced, apologetically, trying to ease the tension.

"Sorry, Batman. Was just...cleaning up a bit. Changed my clothes, too.Yeah..." He answered, and he winced at how...small his voice sounded. It didn't feel like his in the slightest; where he'd once had a clear, strong voice, it was now raspy and croaky, as if he were just getting over a cold, relegating it to a loud whisper. This caught Batman's attention immediately, and he stepped forward, his masked face, even when partially covered, radiated suspicion.

"Cleaning what up? And why does your voice sound like that?" He wondered aloud, almost seeming to demand the answer from the teen, and without hesitation, yet still discreetly, he attempted to clear his throat, if only to improve its sorry state. He chuckled nervously, leaning against the door frame rather uncomfortably as he'd pressed up against a still-healing bruise, but he allowed his face to betray any bit of the discomfort.

He shrugged.

"Oh, my voice. Just got up; guess it needs time to adjust or something. And I was cleaning, uh...my dresser. It kind of...broke." Kon admitted, rubbing the back of his neck as if trying to dissociate from the lie. His voice only sounded marginally better since he'd cleared his throat, going from raspy and croaky to only slightly gritty and worn, but he could modulate his tone and volume a bit more than he could before. It made it easier to raise his voice in volume, but he still rasped slightly, giving the man reason to speculate more than he probably would have if he hadn't been...not that the reasonably vague answer was any more reassuring. In all honestly, he hadn't ever...lied before, seeing as not only had he not had a reason to when he was still in Cadmus, but also, because...he wasn't terribly good at it. It took nothing at all for him to see that Batman was neither satisfied or convinced of his bare-bones answer to the question.

Instead, he pressed harder.

Harder than Superboy would have hoped.

"Broke? How? You know what? I can just come in there since we need to talk anyway." He said, looking down at the youth with a stern, if suspicious expression, and though he figured that he'd have to let him in at some point, he still hesitated. Sure, he'd covered the bed, but the room was a wreck...but holding him at the door any longer was not an option, so, with a sigh, he stepped back, allowing the man entry...reluctantly.

If anything, he didn't want to spend another minute in this room, but saving face took precedence. It would look too suspicious to want to leave so suddenly and without cause.

He could bear with it for a few minutes, couldn't he?

Yeah, he thought.

He could handle that much.

"I, uh...sure, I guess. Just...watch the wood. From the dresser, I mean. It's kind of a mess in here, heh." He tried to laugh, but it rang a bit hollow, backing away and pulling the door with him as he did. Batman remained silent, though Superboy could tell he wasn't pleased about the prospect of him having broken something only days into his stay at Mount Justice, but he could deal with the displeasure at the expense of everything else remaining...inconspicuous. Stepping into the room, the older man was already scanning the room to make note of the corpse of wood, nails, and metal that had once been his dresser. But it was in standing there for a few moments that Batman turned to the teen, nose scrunched up slightly as he surveyed the rest of the space.

"What's that smell?" The Bat started, searching with his eyes as if looking for the source of whatever was offending him, and Superboy stood still, looking at him.

His face twitched, but remained stoic, as calm as he could manage it without it going blank.

"What smell? I don't smell anything." He lied again, scratching the back of his head as he feigned ignorance.

But that wasn't true.

He knew exactly what he was talking about.

That musky haze, that sweet, pungent stench that had somehow worked itself into every cell Superboy had.

The odor of his self-loathing, the smell of what they'd done.

WHAT HE ALLOWED TO HAPPEN -

Every minute, every second, he stood in the room, it razed his senses, taking him back to that bed as his eyes landed upon the cover sheets and concealing blanket, and for a second, just a breath, he could hear her again, taste her again, feel her getting under his skin -

"I don't know, it just...smells odd. Like...sweat, and something else, but I can't place it." He admitted, running his pale, masked eyes around the room again.

Superboy knew he needed to move the conversation along as the longer the man was in here, the more he might begin to suspect, so he chimed in quickly, hoping to urge him away from the topic.

"Oh, well, I was working out earlier...you know how it can be. Guess I worked up a sweat...that's why I was tired, you know? But, uh...you wanted to talk to me?" The clone asked quickly, growing impatient...and tired.

He just wanted to get cleaned up, to wipe every bit ofthataway so he could forget it. To move on. Anything to never think about it again. At his question, Batman nodded, but gestured to the door with a hand.

"Right; we'll address this mess later. Close the door, then we can talk." He commanded firmly, and with a slight turn, the clone closed the door, though Superboy did his best to mask the discomfort that echoed on his features. If anything, he didn't even want to acknowledge that there was anything wrong at all. If he was going to forget this, than acting all frail and helpless certainly wasn't going to help his case.

As far as he was concerned, nothing had happened.

Nothing...at...all.

And just like the two were alone. Without a wasted moment, though, the Bat began to speak; the older man, as he'd learn in the short time he'd called this place home, was staunchly efficient, and given the present circumstances, Superboy could appreciate that. If there was anything that he wasn't quite in the mood for, it was a long-winded and frankly exhausting lecture, despite the fact that he probably deserved this. But the first thing out of the former's mouth was the last thing he wanted to hear.

"You were out of line today, Superboy. Care to explain yourself?" Batman started with little pomp and circumstance, throwing the young clone straight into defense mood. He'd somewhat expected to take the fall for today's...little spats, but to suggest that he was chiefly responsible for all of them, and that he'd even meant to be combative when he was just defending himself felt a little over the top. It didn't help that he was already in a pretty sorry mood from the jump, so being accused of something that directly that baselessly...he was already exhausted and the conversation had just started.

Yet despite his displeasure, he wasn't sure he was in a place to really argue with the notion. He...hadn't really been feeling like himself, for one reason or another, and though much of the details from earlier in the day and morning were still sort of foggy (and he figured he had M'gann to thank in some part for that, but just thinking about her made him sick, so he quickly shifted from her), he could recall enough to know that he was just...really out of it.

More out of it than usual.

However, he wasn't really in the mood or position to elaborate.

Reliving now wasn't really something he was much in the mood for...not that there was anything to relive. After all, nothing had happened.

Nothing at all.

"I...I mean, I don't know. Just...not feeling like myself. Like I'm - " He started, but he wouldn't get the chance to finish. As if knowing exactly what he would say, the Bat was apt in finishing his response without so much as missing a beat.

"Yeah, sick. I heard about your little incident this morning. But that doesn't give you clearance to not only antagonize your teammates, but to blatantly disrespect an authority figure in the fashion you did Canary. That is unacceptable and you know this." He shot back curtly, giving rise to a heat that settled squarely on his worn shoulders. There was a pressing question in his mind of who precisely it was that he'd apparently antagonized on the team when it was made more than obvious to him just who'd he'd meant, and at once, his body tensed with bitterness. They'd gotten less that a minute into the conversation, and already, she was being victimized when, if he could remember correctly, the only thing that could remotely be seen as him antagonizing her was him not simply bending to every stupid, fucking whim and request she had.

And just how was that a crime?

He couldn't answer that.

But what struck him more was Batman's words regarding the situation with Canary.

That he opened commented on.

"What?! I wasn't disrespecting Canary; I wasdefendingmyself!" Kon asked incredulously, and in his mind, his argument at least sounded plausible. She'd all but insulted him, then got mad at him for getting pissed for insulting him; how was his reaction wrong? It wasn't fair that him, being still somewhat new to this whole debriefing thing, was hung out to dry because of a simple question. What they expecting him to do?

Why was he in the wrong for being upset at being called, essentially, fuckingstupid?!

But that wasn't at all how Bruce saw it; as a matter of fact, his masked face contorted with doubt, almost without question to his statement without, from as far as Superboy could tell, taking a moment to consider his statement. It all but seemed as though the older man was already convinced that that wasn't what happened, extinguishing the clone a bit as he opened his mouth in protest.

"Defending yourself? Against what? Discipline?" Bruce tested slightly, and though his tone was slightly amused by the notion, Superboy was anything but.

If anything, there was a degree of disbelief in his words.

Did...he miss what Canary said? There was no way he'd just made all that shit up in his head, it couldn't be.

He...wasn't crazy. He was a lot things: an asshole, disobedient, bull-headed, maybe even a little dumb, but crazy?

Superboy knew what he heard.

"So you mean to tell me that you didn't hear her basically berate me for asking a question? O-or the others saying all that...that stuff about me?" He asked, holding out his hands questioningly before stepping towards Batman a bit, clearing a bit of the wood and debris as his eyes remained staunchly fixed on his mentor. He searched his still face for any semblance of belief in his statement, allowing a touch of the hurt that bubbled beneath the surface that come forth at the thought of what they'd said. Perhaps it wouldn't have stung so badly if they'd been willing to say that stuff when he was still there, to his face, but to wait until he was out of earshot (which, honestly, wasn't really possible, seeing how far he's able to extend his senses, which makes this even more hurtful)...it made him feel like shit, to be frank.

Even more knowing that even Wally, the one that vouched for him most, had all but dropped his guard and jumped into their tirade?

He likely would never say it but...that really hurt.

It really did.

And even more to have Batman raise a brow, consequently invalidating his concerns with a steeled look.

"Berate you? The only thing I saw Canary do was reprimand you for blatant disobedience, Superboy. And no one else said anything after you'd all but stormed off; you shouldn't lie about things like that, especially when you were clearly the one in the wrong." The older man continued, crossing his arms as his eyes fell upon the bed with a touch of interest, cementing just how checked-out of the conversation he was.

Kon was completely and utterly at a loss.

How...how was this, any of this, his fault? But...something else bothered him.

He was sure of it, that he'd heard him...hadn't he? His hearing as second only to Superman's himself, as far as he knew, and it wasn't often that he got that sort of thing wrong, but...could he have? He hadn't exactly seen them say it, and...he was upset? So maybe he imagined it?

At the thought, he doubled back.

No, no, he knew what he heard.

If he started down the rabbit hole of questioning himself like that, it would never end.

Theydidsay those things. Theydidsay all that stuff about him. They did.

Otherwise...that just proved that he was making this all up.

And he wouldn't dare try to reconcile that in his mind.

"What?! I heard them! I heard them say that I'm just a nuisance and how I'm mean and - " He questioned somewhat desperately, struggling to grasp at his own evidence as, apparently, he'd been the only one to notice what had clearly happened. And it didn't help that Bruce wasn't convinced.

Nothing seemed to be working.

And that just made Kon even more scared.

He couldn't have been making this up. He...he'd been there, they'd been there, too. They'd all been there to hear them when Canary said he needed to pay more attention, and when they said that he was a nuisance, and mean, and hard to read, and that he had a bad attitude, and a bunch of other things. Was he trying to suggest that...none of that happened? Then why could he remember it so clearly?

What the hell was going on?

"Superboy, I don't know what you heard, but we continued on without you." Batman's eyes focused back on Kon, an intense look that the teen couldn't return.

That...none of this made sense.

"But I don't...I thought I heard you guys - " He tried to start, but Bruce, growing fed up, it would seem, with his retorts, cut in, clearly becoming impatient.

"You didn't hear anyone say anything like that, Superboy, and you know that. Stop trying to deflect the blame to everyone for your errors in judgement - " His words cut in the clone, given their callousness and short tone. Superboy could feel himself go from cold, stale confusion, to blistering anger in a single breath.

This wasn't fair. He wasn't even trying to consider what he was saying!

"But M'gann - " Kon started, but again, Batman was there to cut him off.

That only helped to fuel the teen's burgeoning irritation.

"Hasn't done anything to you. Not unless you're going to try and justify her simply checking on you as somehow problematic. In fact, M'gann was still concerned about you after you'd all but blown up at her all morning. Yeah, Tornado and Canary told me about your little comments towards her that morning, too." Bruce corrected when something occurred to Superboy.

How could he have not seen it before? It was so obvious, he almost felt stupid for not seeing this sooner.

This...this had to be M'gann. All of this...it had to be her! This had that insane bitch written all over it; of course she would try to make him look bad in-front of everyone else so she could...well, he hadn't exactly figured out what the object of making everyone hate him would be, but that was definitely up her alley.

That had to be it.

Gearing up to respond, he felt invigorated by this train thought, and by his own foolish admission, hopeful that this would be enough to make the older man to see. Because what else could be the explanation for all of the weird shit that had been happening, none of which had been occurring before she showed up on their doorstep.

In a way, he'd be right, wouldn't he? After he'd left Cadmus and all that psychic bullshit behind, he never thought he'd have to question his own thoughts again, yet here he was, doing just that.

There was no way none of them noticed that.

He couldn't have been the only one to.

"No, that's not what I'm saying! She's been...I don't know, messing with my head! Making you guyssaystuff! Wiping your memories! Can you see?! She - " He tried to explain, but the very notion of it was more than what the Bat was willing to listen to, more than aptly extinguishing any sense of presence his words might have held.

The Bat made it look easy, completely over-powering a conversation, but even more than that?

Making you feel insane, even when, in the back of the hybrid's mind, everything he said was clear, even intuitive, in a sense. How could he not fathom what he was saying? It wasn't that extreme of an notion, what, a psychic manipulating your mind?

Not exactly a revolutionary idea; that was pretty much par for the course. Yet, it almost seemed as if he'd spat in the older man's cereal, and even worse, he didn't even try to moderate his tone to conceal that fact, with every bit of disdain budding in his voice with each word the Bat uttered.

"You can'tseriouslybe trying this. You don't think that the rest of us would have noticed her doing that, and why would she be 'messing with your head', Superboy? It would be easier if you just accepted responsibility for what you do instead of - " Whatever shred of self-satisfaction was rooted in the clone as quickly dashed for rising tension.

What was so wrong about even justconsideringwhat he had to say?

It's like he's not even listening to me!, Kon thought crossly, the root of his rage deepening. All he was asking for was for someone to just listen to him, and in this anger, he forgot himself, his muscles tensing painfully, tiredly, under his clothes as his body grew hot with sweat.

Looking back, he certainly would have minded his tongue. Perhaps if he had, then the conversation might have gone differently.

But it was too late; his mouth was already moving, his risen voice matching the intensity of emotion that swelled within him as his own patience began to dwindle.

"Are youfuckingkidding me?! I don't haveanythingto take responsibility for! She's the one who - " He started in a far louder tone, bordering on yelling at this point, and he didn't step down, even when the Bat looked taken aback from his...language. He never usually cursed, or rather, had never been in a situation where he felt the need to. When he was in Cadmus, he never felt this...intensely about anything, having grown up in such a...muted environment.

There wasn't much to do.

Not enough to feel.

Not enough to react to that warranted him behaving so...grossly out of character. The him before would have never dreamt of screaming at an authority figure, much less using language in the fashion that he was, but he was spent.

Today had been enough alone, and to not only be blamed but practically ignored at every turn when you were just trying to explain yourself?

It would be enough to make anyone a little frustrated, wasn't it?

Kon certainly thought so.

However, Batman was less than pleased as, being the one to step forward, and at this point, towering over the boy in terms of height, his expression had long since hardened; any of that amusement and mocking good will was gone now.

His voice, too, betrayed it.

"Watch your tone, Superboy. You're already on thin ice, and I don't take well to disrespect." The older man corrected coldly, crossing his arms along his chest and standing up straighter to acclimate his words. Kon wasn't given pause, though; even with the staunch warning from the former, he hadn't yet responded to his reason.

He was pissed.

Utterly pissed.

He'd spent a lifetime of Cadmus giving less than a shit about his thoughts, his opinions, his feelings; he didn't wake up and join these people to be told much the same, to be treated in an identical way. Despite his better judgement, Kon stood taller in an attempt to match his height.

He wasn't backing down.

He'd gone too far too.

"I'm nottryingto disrespect you! If you would justlistento me, then I could tell you that M'gann - " The clone tried to start, but Batman was quick to respond.

"What? What could youpossiblyhave to say about her?" Batman spat, losing that control over his voice, too. It was as if they were all...trying to protect her. As if any idea that contended with the notion that she was anything but perfect was akin to a blasphemy itself. Gritting his teeth, that annoyed him, too. They hadn't even known her (or him) that long to draw those kinds of conclusions, yet at every turn, he was the bad guy, and she could do no fucking wrong?!

Clenching his fists, he felt himself begin to tremble, his eyes welling with tears that he quickly tried to quell.

Why...why was he crying?

He wasn't...he was just angry, right? Then why...did he feel so...upset? This shouldn't be making him this upset; it was likely just stress, frustration, he told himself, discreetly wiping at his face as his burning eyes fell the floor.

Why wouldn't anyone listen to him? Why was he so convinced that he...he was the one that needed fixing?

What had he done wrong?

His gaze darkened as he studied the ground.

This was her.

She...she was doing something, he knew it. He couldn't prove it, he couldn't even say why it would be that she'd do this, but something in him just...latched onto the idea.

What else could it be?

Thishadto be her.

"She's not the angel that she makes herself out to be. She...she's abitchand - " Batman, this time, was all the more surprised at his language, even more so when, Kon figured, he applied it to M'gann's name. Naturally, just as he had before, the older man chastised him, his tone even harsher than before.

But that didn't surprise Kon, either.

It was only natural that he'd be upset, but frankly, the teen realized, he couldn't care less about that. His energy was too spent.

He was tired.

He didn't want to talk anymore.

"I've alreadywarnedyou once about your language, and everything you've said so far has been unsubstantiated conjecture." Batman's words, though, struck him.

It was seeming more and more as if this...was targeted.

Maybe that wasn't the case, but it surely felt as though it was.

"How come you're not questioning her, huh?! I bet you're not even going to look into what I'm talking about you guys alreadyloveher, so why am I even trying, anyway?! Why is everyone just pointing to the finger atmeas if I'm being the asshole here?! What? Little miss perfect can't make mistakes?!" The boy spat back at him, fixing the man with a cold, long stare as piercing eyes searched for any semblance, any trace, of understanding upon his face.

But what was the point? They all seemed pretty decisive to him.

And even more so when the man responded, just as disapproving as always, though this time, there was a certain exhaustion in his tone of voice that made Superboy only feel as though...he was just bothering him.

Did any of this mean anything? What was the point of this conversation, anyway? Why talk if they were already going to punish him?

He sighed, his anger quieting a bit as exhaustion fell over him. Truth be told, he was tired all along, spent from...well, everything.

From M'gann. The fighting. The yelling.

Everything else.

Closing his eyes, he thought about where he would sleep, not daring to look back at that bed.

He couldn't stay here tonight.

It was then that he realized that he'd begun to drift off in his thoughts, and tried to focus back on the conversation, minding Batman's words with a heavy mind that begged for sleep.

"Superboy, I've already told you to watch your tone. And you see this? This is exactly what we mean; that temper, theseoutbursts...you don't think that these might be a reason why we would suspect you as the one that started this whole conflict? M'gann hasn't presented with any inclination towards problematic behavior, yet no sooner than I tell you to watch your mouth, you're using expletives and yelling and all manner of deflection to detract from your responsibility regarding this situation." His mentor explained as calmly as he could, but Superboy could hear the thrum of his heart in his chest, pulsing with rushing blood as he did his best to stave his anger and frustration.

Every breath that was growing short and shallow with irritation.

The stench of his sweat as his body reacted accordingly. From the outset, Kon had to at least admit that he was impressed that Batman, apart from these physiological tells, betrayed none of this internal struggle on his person. The man was a walking monolith, and he wore the title well as the clone was sure that if he didn't have these abilities, he'd surely have missed them all the same.

Though that was just it.

Something in him felt nervous for some reason.

M'gann did that, too. Concealing her anger and crueler emotions under a smile, just the same as Batman did beneath the veneer of stoicism. To have those so poised, yet so volatile underneath the surface, raging oceans beneath calm seas...he squirmed at the thought.

She'd been so calmly outwardly, too.

Until she wasn't.

His mind briefly, almost imperceptibly, wondered the same thing.

Could Batman do that, too? Could he be so calm one moment, then...

He blinked to clear his hazy eyes.

No, no, the older man wasn't like that. There...wasn't a reason to think that he would be like her. He was just...tired.

Yeah, just tired.

Stepping back a bit, he slouched, allowing that tiredness to fall over him.

"What else is new? Whether I play nice or not, you guys are going to believe her, so what's the point in even trying to say anything?" The teen asked, looking away.

Was there a point?

Until he could prove that she was at fault, there was hardly any cause to keep pushing the issue; it would only make them think less of him.

Or...even less of him than they already did.

His dull response didn't much to ease the displeasure of the other; if anything, the boy's muted words only worked to irritate Batman further...somehow. So even when he wasn't trying to piss people off, he managed to.

Go figure.

"There might be a different outcome if you just explain what's going through your head right now instead of pouting and throwing a tantrum like a child." The older man added in response, but at that point, that was precisely the sort of response the boy expected to hear.

Shrugging, he didn't even bother to argue against it.

"Yeah, sure. Whatever. It's not like you'd believe me, anyway. Even if I told you what she did, you wouldn't - " At his slip of the tongue, Kon froze.

No.

No, he wasn't supposed to say anything about it. It was supposed to have been buried, and much more than that, even just alluding to it when talking to anyone was a no-go.

No one could know.

NO ONE COULD KNOW.

Clamming up, he didn't miss the intrigued, if slightly miffed, expression of his mentor.

That had caught his interest.

"She what? Superboy, speak up. What is itnow?" The man asked in search of clarification, but Superboy was less than willing to offer up an explanation...not that he could have if he wanted to. Just thinking about it...the touch of her hands, the feeling of her on his -

He tensed quickly, desperately, to withhold the bile that clambered up his throat with unholy speed to meet the rush of disgust and terror that filled every inch of him. It was bitter, swimming crudely in his mouth before, with great effort, he managed to choke it back, swallowing the vile haze with a single, burning gulp that was, thankfully, missed by the older man.

But that didn't quell it.

The sensations, the thoughts...the fear.

Oh god, he was...he was scared. He was so...fucking...scared. Why? Why was he afraid? What was he...scared of? He could feel his hands then the whole of his body begin to tremble, micro-tremors claiming his hands as he clenched them tightly at his sides in a bid to maintain any sense of the control he had left.

He didn't want to talk about it, or her...or anything.

He...wanted to forget.

"Nevermind. I-it's...not important. For...forget it." He stuttered far quieter than he'd meant to, his throat feeling tighter, just as it had before. His fingers managed to find the legs of his pants, and they gripped them tightly, as if holding onto them would keep him grounded.

He just needed something to focus on.

Anything but that.

"But you're the one who - " But this time, Batman wouldn't have the chance to finish.

Not when a violent rush of blood and hot rage bloomed all at once in Kon's words, silencing any further conversation about the matter.

"I SAID FORGET IT!" He shouted, the force of his voice rattling the room as all went still.

Perfectly, horribly...still.

He didn't catch the surprise upon Bruce's face when his own eyes remained fixed on the ground, as if searching for sanctity in the dark stone beneath his feet...just they had before with the matching ceiling above. The clone could feel his breaths claw their way from his parted lips and gritted teeth, short pants that matched only the dizzying swell of emotion and overwhelm that ran hot in his veins.

He was shaking.

He...wasn't thinking.

He'd...he'd lost his cool.

And all at once, the embarrassment at his lack of decorum hit him.

This...wasn't going to help his case. If anything, he realized quickly when he looked up to look upon Batman's face, that expected disappointment, that horrible expression of disdain was so clear and obvious that any of the wrath he felt fell away at once. He...was just making things worse.

So...so, so much worse.

"I-I...I'm so - " But he wouldn't get the chance to speak.

Batman stepped closer, and Kon stepped back instinctively.

But that didn't matter to the older man. He began to speak, voice so cold, commanding, and lacking in warmth that, for a moment, if felt, again, as if he were in that lab, his birth place.

Cadmus.

The White Coats often sounded the same.

And in some strange way, that alone made his desire to speak dissolve as he felt as he did then.

Small...weak...less than. Always...less than them. He shrank under his voice as the grip on his pants grew tighter, threatening, then, to tear the fabric as his fingernails buried into his thighs.

"You know...that difficult behavior is exactly why you're in this situation in the first place. Pushing everything and everyone away because you've got no hold on your temper or emotions is just going to make things more difficult...and you want field work? You're not ready for anything like that, yet. That much is painfully clear." And at his mentor's words, he felt no desire to argue.

Whether it was true or not, there was no use fighting him, and if anything, he thought pessimistically with an averted eye, he hadn't exactly proven him wrong. That outburst was probably what they meant, and even in trying to justify it, there was probably nothing he could say to clear or explain it. Not without telling them...everything else...and really, how could he prove eventhatif he did?

By now, the marks were probably healed. The bruises? History.

And M'gann...he couldn't imagine that she would openly admit to anything.

So what was he supposed to do? Argue with what, by all intents and purposes, was the truth in their eyes? The best that he could hope for was to just bide his time and hope that M'gann would just...drop this. To ride it out until it became irrelevant, and he could just move on with his life. Sure, he was on thin ice with everyone now, but if he just...tried hard enough, they would forgive him, wouldn't they?

He hoped so.

Pressing his lips together, he was determined to not dig the hole deeper.

It was better to just shut his mouth.

"If you have nothing else to say, then I suppose this settles it." Batman began, and for a moment, Kon thought the conversation was over, but then the older man began to speak again.

And immediately, he broke his silence.

"You will be on a week's probation for insubordination." Bruce told him curtly before starting his way towards the door, stepping over several of the fragments of his dresser and his strewn clothes, and at once, Kon was thrown into confusion.

He was being punished? What for?!

"W-what?! Why?!" He asked, holding out his hands in genuine disbelief, and Batman gave him a dull, even impatient look as he held out a hand and began to list off each offense he'd managed to rack up in a single day, a rather impressive feat, if he were on the outside looking in.

"Let's see: habitually combative and uncooperative behavior, disrespectful or objectionable actions towards an authority figure, callousness and aggressiveness towards a teammate, objectionable language; need I go on?" With each offense, he illustrated it with a finger, holding them out for the boy to see in a bid to elaborate his point. And from that perspective, it was almost reasonable...but Superboy, being the recipient of said punishment, didn't see it that way. It didn't help that it seemed even more that he'd be singularly punished instead of M'gann, and despite his sheer exhaustion, he still had enough energy to protest.

Even if he knew full well that doing so would only make things worse.

"Oh, come on! That's not fair!" He shouted at the man's back, and without so much as a look back at the teen, he spoke, tone sharp, cutting.

"Superboy, enough. You're just digging yourself deeper. Drop it before it becomes a month." He told him simply, but Superboy wasn't done.

This wasn't right. This wasn't right at all.

"B-but - " He tried to retort, but the Bat spun around, masked face creased in the first expression of genuine anger that he'd seen on the man's features since their conversation started. It looked...strange, seeing his typically calm and motionless features so...expressive. It was cause enough to silence the boy.

"You were given a home and allowed to join a team that accepts you, but you need to pull your weight. Just being the muscle is not going to be enough to make up for a lifetime of disdain if you don't get your act together." And with that, he left the boy to hang on his words.

And that he did.

He wasn't trying to get them to hate him, he...swore he wasn't. Was that...what was going to happen? If he kept being combative and...a-and mean, would that mean...they would never like him. He...he didn't want that, Superboy didn't want that to happen. But how was he supposed to change that when she, when M'gann, was doing everything in her power to make this hard for him?

Or...or was she?

Even now...he still couldn't prove it was her that had made the others say that stuff about him. There was nothing to suggest that she'd planted those thoughts into their minds, was there?

Swallowing, he only nodded.

He'd done enough damage.

He really just needs to shut up.

At his relent, the Bat turned away, reaching the door and opening it slightly, but before he left, he paused to speak just once more before he left.

"One of the bots will bring your dinner to you. For now, you are to stay in your room. Perhaps with some time to think, you can reflect on how you got here. And for all of our sakes, I hope you do." And with that, he opened the door enough to step through, and with a swish of midnight tones, the man left, shutting the door behind him, leaving Kon alone in the suffocating air of his room.

To the silence.

To his thoughts.

Clenching his fists, he quickly released them, running a trembling hand through his dark hair, he was at a lost in terms of what it was that he was supposed to do as, all things considered, that couldn't have gone worse than what it had. Sighing, the young clone didn't even have enough energy to ponder on it much, though, his body moving mechanically to the spot just below the window where he'd punched the wall, his body repelled just as intensely from the bed.

Slipping onto the floor, his eyes stared out into the dark space, minding the shards of strewn wood, his clothes upon the floor, and all at once, in this black room with black stone, Kon, for the first time he'd since he'd been released from Cadmus felt one thing he never thought he would have felt again.

Alone.