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Hal had been on monitor duty that night, much to Bruce’s chagrin. With a lack of professionalism that Bruce was coming to expect from the Green Lantern, Hal had informed him that there was a suspicious energy surge in Denver, Colorado. It had used enough energy to power an entire residential neighbourhood for a week, possibly longer.
“You should probably do something about that,” Hal said, in the offhanded way someone might talk about the weather. “Check it out.”
“Sending me alone isn’t a good idea,” Bruce countered. “Is there no one who can accompany me?”
“Everyone’s occupied. Superman's dealing with an earthquake in Malaysia, Aquaman’s in Atlantis, the Flash is dealing with Captain Cold again - third time this month, you know - Wonder Woman’s–”
“I’m getting the point, Lantern.”
“Right. Anyways, you’re the closest and I don’t wanna send any of the newbies in case it's something really dangerous.”
“Ah, but you’re perfectly content sending me to my possible death,” Bruce deadpanned.
“Will you check it out or not?”
Bruce checked the location Hal sent him. “I’ll go. If I meet my unexpected demise, let it be known that you are responsible.”
“I'll even give a speech at your funeral.”
“Get back to work, Lantern.”
“Alright, alright. Geez!”
Bruce moved slowly and carefully through the non-descript, suburban home, listening intently for any suspicious sounds. It had been all too easy for him to pick the lock on the front door, which was concerning in its own way. People with malicious intentions tended to be more careful to keep others out. People who genuinely believed they were acting righteously were often ten times more dangerous, and ten times less careful.
Tamping down his frustration, Bruce continued through the house. It seemed to be someone’s home. There was a half-drunk cup of coffee on the table, next to a dish of cat food. How unhygienic…
Overall, the home was rather uninteresting. Bruce was about to contact Hal to inform him that there had been nothing of note, when he heard screaming. First a distinctly human scream, which was overtaken by something more otherworldly. Coming from the basement. It chilled Bruce to his core. Reaching for his weapon, he followed the sound to the basement, kicking open the door. His mind scrambled to contextualise the sight before him.
A tall, green alien - all long limbs and pointed features - was ripping a machine to pieces with his bare hands. Metal crumpled like tissue paper. Glass shattered into dust. Wires were ripped out with long, precise fingers. To Bruce’s left, a human man - maybe in his mid-forties - was shuffled up against the wall, cradling a smaller alien in his arms.
Anger was something familiar to Bruce, and he was well aware that it was usually a response to fear.
“We are not here to harm you,” Bruce said, moving himself between the aggressive alien and the other two individuals in the room. “Please, calm down.”
It was a longshot to expect the alien to know English, but a lot of aliens the League encountered were equipped with language translators. It was worth a try.
With no sign of recognition, the alien screamed in a language Bruce did not recognise, standing over the wreckage of the machine. The only word Bruce was able to pick out was a name. At least, it sounded like one.
M'yri'ah.
When Bruce repeated the name back to the alien, hoping to make some connection, if only a minor one, the creature moved to look at him.
He did not turn.
He moved every molecule of his body to rearrange himself to face Bruce, who staggered back in shock.
A shapeshifter…?!
That was the last thought Bruce had before his mind was battered open with a force that left him reeling.
He stole me. He stole me from my home. He stole me from M’yri’ah. He took me. He took me. He took me.
Hate. Hate. Hate.
I have been stolen.
I do not understand.
Hate. Hate. Hate.
Who are you? Who is he? Where am I?
I am scared. I am so scared. Please, help me understand.
Save my daughter.
Please. Please. Please.
She is all that I have.
Please.
Shock ripped through Bruce, followed shortly after by a sympathetic grief, as the alien severed his connection with Bruce’s mind and collapsed to the ground with an unceremonious thud.
With the alien… neutralised, Bruce turned his attention to the human man. “Was this your doing?”
The man was trembling. “I don’t know. I hadn’t– The machine wasn’t supposed to–”
“The machine is yours?” Bruce repeated. Let the bastard dig his own grave.
“Yes, but–” The man was stuttering now. “It was supposed to teleport something small . A colony of bacteria or- or a rock. Nothing– There wasn’t supposed to be any life there!”
“Where?”
“Mars.”
The creature was a Martian. That was… unexpected.
“What is your name?”
“Saul Erdel.”
Bruce grabbed him by the arm. “I am taking you into Justice League custody, Dr. Erdel.”
“I didn’t– I didn’t know this would–”
Bruce held up a hand, silencing Dr. Erdel. “I know. Your machine functioned on a higher level than you expected… as frustrating as it is for both of us, this is not your fault.”
Another thought came to Bruce, this one extremely worrying. WayneTech had been expanding their exploration of other planets over the past few months, as alien tech and extraterrestrial life began to make their way to Earth more often. Though they had sent several rovers to Mars, none of them had found a single hint of life. That was corroborated by both Superman and Green Lantern.
Mars, at the current time, was completely barren.
Either Dr. Erdel was wrong about the location his machine had locked onto, the Martians had been able to avoid human detection for decades, or these aliens were not from the present day at all.
So much for Bruce’s quiet night…
J’onn woke up and knew, innately, that he was no longer on Mars. He had been stolen by a strange creature (bipedal, like a Martian, but not one, nothing like him) only a short time after M'yri'ah… after M’yri’ah died.
His wife was gone. His daughter most likely followed soon after. Everyone he had ever loved was gone. He wasn’t even on Mars anymore. He had never been so alone.
The room he was in reminded him of the healer’s chambers of Mars, though more sterile and white. There was a sharp smell that clung to his skin. His body burned.
Burned like fire. Like–
They burned M’yri’ah. J’onn had begged them not to, but they took his wife, and they tried to take his baby and–
K’hym.
Where was his daughter?
J’onn attempted to rise to his feet, partially encumbered by the strips of fabric holding him against the bed. A laughable attempt to contain him. J’onn simply morphed his body around the straps. They would not be able to contain him. He would escape and–
Standing before him was a strange creature. Shorter than J’onn by a decent amount and black from head to toe. Bipedal. The complexity of their mind suggested they were sentient.
Despite his anger, J’onn did not want to hurt anyone if he could help it.
Step back. Let me through.
The stranger did not move.
No. We are trying to help you.
You stole me. Where is K’hym? Where is my daughter?
We did not steal you. I can bring you to your daughter. Do you want me to?
Silence.
Yes.
J’onn would put his rage to one side, if it meant saving his daughter.
If Bruce was slightly less strong of will, he was almost certain the sight of the Martian would have been enough to send him into a panic. The man was tall - taller than any human Bruce had ever seen - but unlike Clark and Diana, who were broad-shouldered, the Martian was built like a snake, lithe and long.
Even so, Bruce had built his vigilante persona as someone capable of facing down even the greatest of foes. He would show no fear to this alien if he could help it.
“Do you have a name?” Bruce asked, as he led the Martian down an empty corridor at the Watchtower. J’onn did not walk, he glided, floating a few millimetres above the floor.
“J’onn J’onzz,” the alien replied. “I see two names in your mind. What should I call you?”
The alien’s telepathic abilities made him a very real threat. Bruce had to reassure himself with the knowledge that, if J’onn was truly malicious, Bruce would already be dead. The thought brought him some surprising comfort. It probably shouldn’t have.
“When I am in this costume, call me Batman.”
“Understood.”
The silence between them was comfortable. Bruce could definitely have asked for a worse companion in the echoey halls of the Watchtower. There were few members of the Justice League who were willing to allow silence to linger. If it were the Flash or Superman, he would have been subjected to a great deal of inane chatter.
Bruce found he preferred this companionable silence.
The nearby medical wing of the Watchtower was sterile and quiet, the only sounds being the whirring and steady beeps of machinery. Though they had managed to get the younger alien - J’onn’s child - stable, it had been immensely difficult. They had been operating blind, with little understanding of Martian physiology, and things were complicated even further by the fact that the younger Martian’s body would not stay in one arrangement, perhaps a last ditch effort to keep themselves alive by making their vital organs more difficult to find and injure. Thankfully, Bruce had some experience with shapeshifters - Clayface and Plastic Man sprung to mind - so they were able to use some of the same tricks to stabilise the Martian child’s body enough for them to do what had to be done.
“Thank you,” J’onn said, his voice a little stilted. It was entirely possible that he was not used to speaking, if telepathy was common amongst Martians.
You do not have to speak if it is uncomfortable…
“I was raised to honour the practices of those around me,” J’onn said. “It is polite.”
“I suppose,” Bruce said, reaching for the keypad by the door. “Even so, I would understand if you needed time to adjust.”
… thank you.
Grateful. Longing. Lonely.
“Be careful,” Bruce said, as he and J’onn entered the medical wing. “Do not damage my equipment. It is the only thing keeping your daughter alive.”
“I understand.”
The pair entered the room, where the younger Martian was lying upon a bed, plugged into a series of monitors and drips. Bruce wasn’t sure how much of it would be beneficial, but in his haste to save the young alien’s life, he had decided too much would be better than too little. The alien child looked especially small like this, laid out like a body in a coffin.
Grief. Terror. Love.
J’onn reached out a hand, brushing his daughter’s cheek. “Will she live?”
“Her prognosis is good,” Bruce said. “She is resilient.”
Relief. Relief. Relief.
J’onn moved to the side of the hospital bed, reaching out to hold his daughter's hand.
“Does she have a name?” Bruce asked, standing in the doorway, feeling like an interloper. He had no business intruding on such an intimate moment between two people he did not know.
“K’hym,” J’onn replied. “Her name is K’hym.”
K’hym. My baby. My little one.
The last daughter of Mars.
I love you. I love you. I love you.
I’m so sorry. I couldn't protect you.
The Justice League examined Dr. Erdel’s machine, practically down to the screws and bolts. There was no doubt in anyone’s mind that the machine had beamed J’onn and K’hym from Mars. Additionally, J’onn’s description of Mars included no mentions of Martians living in secrecy, and he had been under the assumption that Earth was a barren planet, suggesting that Martians had no idea that humans even existed.
When Bruce told J’onn his theory - that he and K’hym had been beamed across both time and space - J’onn went very quiet. Then, he asked Bruce to leave him for a moment.
Bruce complied.
When he returned, J’onn turned to look at him, an unreadable expression in his eyes. “My home is gone, isn’t it? My home and my people.”
“Yes.”
Pain. Grief. Loss.
“I’m sorry,” Bruce said.
J’onn looked up at him, his hands trembling.
Thank you.
The Manor was quiet at night. It reminded J’onn of the plains of Mars, where you could walk for miles and find no one. The plains were the only place you could find true solace in a world where everyone was psychically connected. Despite the love J’onn had for his people and his planet, he had to admit that he treasured those quieter moments. When he was a youngling, he would go out into the desert with his father M'yrnn and brother Ma'alefa'ak. They would stare out at the expansive desert and feel a chilling sense of greatness, watching the desert spread out as far as the eye could see in all directions.
Now, on this strange planet called Earth, J’onn felt alone for an entirely different reason. The people here were nothing like him and K’hym. They could never understand each other.
Bruce - the name used when he was not wearing the shell of Batman - had sat him down, not long after J’onn reunited with his daughter, to inform him that Mars was a barren planet. The doctor’s device ripped him across both space and time.
There was nothing now.
J’onn would never be able to pay his respects to M'yri'ah.
K’hym would not grow up on her home planet.
J’onn would never be amongst his people again.
The thought should have been crushing, but J’onn was too exhausted to truly grieve. All he could do was sit on the grass outside the Manor - so different from the deserts of Mars - and long for his home.
Late into the evening, J’onn found himself with a companion. Bruce’s servant, Alfred, moved to sit next to J’onn on the grass, old bones creaking.
“You are troubled,” Alfred said, his voice steady and low. It reminded J’onn of his father. M'yrnn had been deceased long before the plague ever struck Mars but, somehow, the more recent loss had made that old wound more painful.
“There is much to be troubled over,” J’onn replied. “Has Bruce told you of my situation?”
“He has.” Looking up at the sky, Alfred continued, “I do believe I understand more than you might expect.”
Longing. Sorrow. Acceptance.
“You have lost people too,” J’onn concluded. “People who were important to you.”
If Alfred’s mind hadn’t confirmed J’onn’s suspicions, his rueful laughter would have. “Bruce’s mother and father… they were very dear to me. Even in death, I am endlessly loyal to them. Not a day goes by where they are not on my mind.” Alfred’s sigh was heavy. “Sometimes, in moments of grief, memories are all that we have.”
Understanding.
“I cannot bring myself to accept that my people are gone,” J’onn said. “It does not feel right. Am I truly so alone in the universe?
“I hope you find a place on Earth someday,” Alfred said. “The world is easier to traverse when you have people you love alongside you.”
“I hope so as well…”
Assurance.
“You should come inside,” Alfred added, standing up. “Even if you do not need to sleep, you should rest your body.”
Care.
J’onn agreed. “I will come.”
Bruce was always doing things and not explaining them to Dick, which was so not fair! He kept saying Dick was too little to be involved with Justice League stuff, but he also brought two literal aliens to their house. Wasn’t that more dangerous than just going to the Watchtower or whatever? Dick wasn’t even allowed to meet either of the aliens, which was stupid. They were in his house.
Bruce kept saying that the younger alien was ‘medically fragile’, whatever that meant. She’d been in the med bay, though, so Dick was pretty sure she was just sick. All the more reason that he should get to meet them. Being alone when you were sick was the worst. Plus, she was an alien, so it wasn’t like she could get Dick sick. Dick was pretty sure alien diseases didn’t work on humans. Like humans and animal diseases.
At least, that was what he was telling himself when he crept into the wing on the other side of the Manor. The door to the room was locked, but Dick had been Robin for almost a year now. A single door lock wasn’t gonna stop him.
Admittedly, he hadn’t really figured out what he was gonna do when he actually got into the bedroom. He'd always been good at winging it, though, so he figured he'd be fine.
Picking the lock, Dick had to pause for a moment to take in how cool this whole situation was. There was an actual alien in his house! She was green and everything, not like Uncle Clark, who pretty much looked like a human. This was a million times cooler.
“Hi, are you feeling better?” Dick asked, approaching the alien. He couldn't remember what Bruce said her name was; something with a K. “I'm Dick. What's your name?”
The alien girl twisted to look at him, eyes so dark that they were almost black. The sheer terror radiating off her caught Dick off guard, making him stumble back. Maybe he should have waited for Bruce after all…
“Do you need help?” Dick asked. “Do you want your Papa?”
The alien girl writhed, and Dick felt her mind puncture his own.
Where? Where is- I am alone. Where is he?
Do you know where Father is? Did you take him?
I hate you. I hate you. Where is my Father?
Let me in! Let me in! I hate you. Where? Where is he? Bring me to him!
Dick really shoulda waited for Bruce. This was scary. She was inside his head now. Were aliens supposed to be able to do that? It was really weird and scary. Dick didn't like it, and-
Falling. Falling. He was falling. It was like the ground had given out beneath his feet, and he was falling through the-
-Father had taken her and ran and-
-the top of the big top was such a long way to fall. There was no one to catch him. No one to-
-burning bodies all around them. Mother's body burned to ash. They said it was to purify her and-
They were dead, weren't they? Blood was seeping into sawdust and-
Father was so angry. His mind had been full of rage as he held her in his arms. He wanted to-
Dick wanted to kill them. They took his Mama and Papa from him and-
She couldn't remember the last time she saw Father like this and-
There had been one man in the crowd whose face wasn't twisted into horror or disgust and-
They were all dying. They couldn't stop it. Mars was dying and she was dying and father-
He hadn't even looked scared.
Bruce had told Dick to leave K’hym alone so many times. If his son had listened to him, none of this would have happened. When they had heard screaming coming from K’hym’s room - distinctly human screaming - Bruce had raced upstairs, scooping Dick into his arms mere moments before J’onn phased through the floor and enveloped K’hym against his own body. The alien girl was shaking against him, as if mid-seizure.
Dick’s chest was heaving, and he was crying, tears running down both his cheeks. When Bruce reached a hand to Dick’s forehead, to wipe sweat-sticky hair away from his eyes, Dick doubled over, coughing like he was choking. His eyes were distant and hazy, even as he held onto Bruce’s hand, gripping it tight enough to bruise.
“What happened?” Bruce asked, his own voice shaking. What did they do to each other?
K’hym is still learning to use her psychic abilities. Even though he wasn’t speaking out loud, Bruce could feel the horror in J’onn’s words. It is entirely possible she found herself somewhere in his mind that she did not… react well to.
A memory?
Perhaps.
Fuck.
Do your best for your child, and I will do my best for mine.
Understood.
With J’onn comforting K’hym, Bruce turned his attention to Dick, who was gripping Bruce’s hand like he was terrified Bruce would disappear if he let go. “Bruce? That you?”
“That’s right, Chum. It's me. Do you know where you are?”
Dick glanced around the room, as if noticing it for the first time. “I thought… the circus?”
“You’re not with the circus anymore, Dickie.”
The silence lingered.
“They’re dead, aren’t they?” Dick’s voice cracked over the words. “And they’ve been dead for a long time.”
Bruce squeezed Dick’s hand tighter. “Almost a year.”
“Felt real,” Dick mumbled. “Felt like they just… I was falling , Bruce”
Something about being a father always brought out the most vulnerable parts of Bruce, prodding at the oldest and most painful wounds.
“I’m sorry, Dickie. I should have been more clear about why you couldn’t see K’hym,” Bruce said. “She was very sick, and her control of her abilities won’t be perfect. That must have been scary for you.”
“Didn’t know she’d be able to do that,” Dick admitted. “Uncle Clark can’t do that.”
“Uncle Clark isn’t a Martian,” Bruce pointed out.
“Guess not…” Dick curled up closer to Bruce. “When K’hym feels better, will you tell her I’m sorry?”
“Of course, Chum.”
Bruce turned to J’onn, who was pressed against K’hym, as if shielding her.
Is she…
She will be alright in time. Give us space. We need space.
Protective. Protective. Protective.
Understood.
As both Bruce and J’onn took their children in their arms, retreating to separate wings of the Manor, Bruce was struck with the realisation that he might have been in over his head. Even so, he was determined to make this work. J’onn and K’hym didn’t really have anywhere else to go, after all.
A week later, Dick and K’hym were introduced to each other again, in a more controlled way. Both Bruce and J’onn watched with great trepidation as K’hym approached Dick, who was sitting on the couch with Ace. Bruce was sure that the children were as anxious as they were, even if they hid it a little better.
“Is he… companion?” K’hym asked, turning her head to the side. “Your companion?”
Dick nodded, patting Ace on the head. “Yeah, his name is Ace. Wanna come pet him?”
K’hym trilled with excitement, turning to J’onn for a moment. They must have had some sort of mental communication, because K’hym started slowly approaching the hound, trying to copy what Dick was doing with his hands. Ace was an incredibly patient dog, and didn’t seem bothered by K’hym’s hesitant prodding, though Bruce made a note to tell K’hym later that not all dogs would like that.
“Soft,” K’hym said, her voice becoming almost like a purr. “I like him.”
Love. Love. Love.
With K’hym’s face close to the dog’s, Ace did something rather out of character, sitting up and licking a stripe across K’hym’s face.
Shock. What? Why?
Dick burst out laughing. “He must really like you! He doesn’t usually do that!”
Joy. Joy. Joy.
“Like him too,” K’hym said, shuffling onto the couch to sit on the other side of Ace and burying her face in his fur. Her voice was a little muffled as she said, “I made you sad. Sorry.”
Dick shrugged. “It’s not your fault. I shoulda listened to Bruce and left you alone.”
“Don’t like being alone…” K’hym whispered.
“Me neither.”
“Your mind was weird.”
“So was yours,” Dick shot back.
The momentary tension quickly dissipated, as Dick held up a remote. “Wanna watch TV?” At K’hym’s blank look, he added, “It’s moving pictures. They tell a story.”
“Ooh! Yes, please!”
J’onn was glad that K’hym was finding companionship with Bruce’s youngling, but he was beginning to wish that he had the same pleasure. The manor was a pleasant enough home, but he was getting lonely.
“You’re upset,” Bruce stated, giving J’onn a funny look. They had been sitting in the library together, with J’onn trying to teach himself how to read English with the books found within. It was not an easy task, since the sounds of people’s thoughts didn’t translate well to the letters J’onn was finding inside those books.
Though J’onn’s face remained stoic and unmoving, he was a little amused. “I thought I was the empath, Bruce.”
“You don’t have to be an empath to know when someone’s upset,” Bruce grumbled. “Do you want to talk about it?”
J’onn hesitated, attempting to gather the best words to describe how he was feeling. If Bruce were a Martian, this would be so much easier…
… and that was the central crux of the issue, wasn’t it?
“Martians are a social species,” J’onn explained. “We are used to mental connections with our people. Since being…”
Stolen. Kidnapped. Taken.
“... brought to Earth, I have been lonely. I miss having real, tangible connections with those around me. Most of all, I miss my wife.”
His connection to M'yri'ah had been one of the best parts of his life. It had been simple and joyous. They kept nothing from each other. When he felt that connection sever, it had been like having his soul ripped out of his body.
Bruce leaned back in his chair, resting his chin on his intertwined hands. “I see… I thought isolating you from wider society while you adjusted would be beneficial, but I seem to be causing you greater harm in doing so. You have my sincerest apologies.”
Guilt.
J’onn hesitated. “I did not intend to make you feel guilty.”
Bruce shook his head. “You and K’hym are my responsibility for as long as you are staying in my home. We should start taking you and K’hym out in public more. In human disguises, of course.”
“As grateful as I am, that is not precisely what I intended with that request,” J’onn said, trying to will himself to make the request, as embarrassing as it was. “I would like to establish a mental connection with you, Bruce.”
In an instant, Bruce’s mental walls went up.
“You are uncomfortable with the idea,” J’onn stated. He could still feel peripheral thoughts and sense Bruce’s emotions, but anything deeper had been completely shut off.
“It is not your fault,” Bruce insisted. “I am just…”
Paranoia. Fear. Loneliness.
“... not certain that sharing my mind with you is a good idea.”
“Why not?”
Bruce looked immensely ashamed as he said, “I am not… a stable man. I never have been.”
“Neither am I,” J’onn pointed out. “You saw me with Dr. Erdel’s machine. I lost control.”
“You had a reason to be angry,” Bruce said.
And you do not?
“It would help me greatly,” J’onn said. “Even so, I do not wish to force you.”
“I will consider it,” Bruce said, his voice a little stiff.
“Thank you.”
“What are you reading?” Bruce asked, an obvious attempt to change the topic of the conversation.
J’onn held up the book he was flicking through, deciding to humour Bruce. “Hamlet. The language is a little strange, though…”
“You’re starting with Shakespeare?” Bruce said, as if it was amusing.
J’onn faltered. “Are they not a good author?”
“No, he’s one of the best, but he’s not exactly… beginner level.” Bruce stood up, looking through some of the nearby shelves, before handing J’onn a paperback book. On the front cover, a human woman knelt in the clearing of a forest, holding a clock. The title read ‘Nancy Drew: The Secret of the Old Clock.’
“These were my favourites when I was younger,” Bruce said. “The language is a little less complex and a bit more modern.”
J’onn stared at the book for a moment, holding it tightly. “I will do my best to enjoy this. Thank you, Bruce.”
Appreciation.
It was strange. J’onn had come to meet Dr. Erdel, fully expecting to despise the man who had stolen him from his people. However, sitting across from the elderly scientist, J’onn couldn’t feel anything for him but pity.
The man had made a grave error, certainly, but he had no way of knowing that his machine was more powerful than anticipated. He had not intended to abduct J’onn off the surface of Mars.
There was no reason to be angry with him. The thought was freeing in a way that J’onn didn’t expect.
There was no one to pin his anger on. He had to let it go.
So, he did.
A few days had passed and Bruce had their cover story for the press set up, so J’onn and K’hym could have their first proper outing. If anyone asked, ‘John’ was an old friend of Bruce’s, who was staying with them, along with his daughter ‘Kim’, while he organised his affairs after the death of his wife. They decided that keeping the cover story similar to the truth would make it easier for Dick and K’hym to keep the story straight.
After reminding K’hym again that she had to keep her human disguise up the whole time they were out, the group prepared to leave the manor. There was a park not too far away, which Bruce decided would be a good place to introduce K’hym to some other children in a casual way. They could bundle up the little Martian in a coat and gloves, since it was getting colder, so she wouldn’t have to keep as much of her disguise at once.
“Martians typically do not wear clothes designed for winter, since we are adapted for lower temperatures,” J’onn explained, helping K’hym put on her gloves. He smiled fondly when she wiggled her fingers, changing their shape so they could fit the gloves more easily. His baby was growing up so fast…
Bruce took a few minutes to help J’onn style K’hym’s curly hair into two puffs on either side of her head. K’hym had never had hair before - especially not the tightly curled hair that came with her new human body - so she was delighted by the entire process.
“I think we’re done,” Bruce said. “Let’s get going.”
“Alright,” J’onn said, following Dick and Bruce out of the house.
K’hym took his hand. “Is it okay that we don’t look like Bruce and Dick? They’re not gonna get mad at us, are they?”
J’onn chirped, deep in thought. On Mars, the divisions between races - White Martians and Green Martians - were strict and led to extreme discrimination against White Martians. Though there were still divisions between different humans, Earth seemed to be marginally more accepting of differences. There shouldn’t be an issue with ‘John’ and ‘Kim’ having darker skin. If there was, Bruce surely would have told them.
“Humans are naturally more varied than Martians, it seems,” J’onn replied. “I do not think we have to worry.”
“Hmm… okay!” K’hym ran ahead to join Dick. The pair had started spending a lot of time together, and had even established a more permanent psychic connection with each other. J’onn was proud of his daughter; establishing mental connections was an important part of Martian development.
Around halfway to the park, J’onn began to feel the chill. While the temperature on Earth was far warmer than on Mars, J’onn was not used to wind, which made the cold cling to his skin more. It was not pleasant. J’onn was startled when Bruce came up behind him, wrapping something around his neck.
“A scarf?” J’onn said, peering into the periphery of Bruce’s mind to find the right word. Bruce didn’t mind that sort of surface level mindreading. The scarf was still warm, having been wrapped around Bruce’s neck only a moment ago. “Are you giving this to me?”
“I don't want you to be cold,” Bruce said, kneeling down to tie Dick’s boots, which had come loose again.
Fondness. Care. Affection.
J’onn reached up to adjust the scarf, feeling the softness of the knit. It was perfect.
Adoration.
The park was on the smaller side, with maybe a dozen or so kids playing on the play equipment, while their parents and guardians watching from the benches on the sidelines.
“Will you be recognised?” J’onn asked, his fingers moving to absentmindedly fidget with the scarf Bruce gave him. It kept the chill of the winter wind off his neck, and left him feeling warm and loved.
“It’s possible, but Gothamites are used to seeing me in public. I like to make outings with Dick every now and then. It’s good PR, and he gets a chance to play with kids his own age. We’ve been coming to this park quite often lately, actually.”
“You’re a good father,” J’onn said.
Bruce gave him a tiny smile. “I know I have my flaws, but I do try.”
Bruce and J’onn found a spot on a bench close to the play equipment, so they could keep an eye on K’hym and Dick. The kids spotted a merry-go-round, and were off like a shot. They were cute together, taking turns holding onto the merry-go-round and running so it would spin around with the other already on it. Dick was good at hopping on himself while it was still moving, but it took K’hym a few tries to figure out how to do that without falling.
Confident that their children could entertain themselves, Bruce turned to J’onn, starting a light conversation with him. It was a little hard to stay focused, though, as he was beginning to realise how devastatingly handsome J’onn’s human disguise was. He was tall - taller than Bruce by an inch or two - with a leaner build. The body of someone who trained for usable muscle, rather than visible muscle. Narrower shoulders, but strong arms and firm hands. Dark skin and thick, curly, cropped hair. When he smiled, it was warm and bright, as if J’onn had brought his own piece of the galaxy to Earth with him.
Bruce was a little surprised by his own attraction towards J’onn, but it made more sense than he wanted to admit. He had always had a bias towards powerful people; who could be more powerful than a Martian? The true extent of their wide-ranging abilities was outside even the Justice League’s understanding, but even the little Bruce had seen from J’onn so far - shapeshifting, telekinesis and telepathy - made him a very real, potential threat. Even so, J’onn was too full of grief, tempered by kindness, to ever cause harm.
Additionally, while J’onn’s true form was undeniably inhuman, and a little frightening, it had its own appeal. Bruce could find something beautiful in J’onn’s lanky build and long fingers. His eyes, which were bright red, burned like a dying star. Despite his pain and loneliness, he was achingly gentle.
Maybe Bruce’s attraction was more than surface level, after all?
His thoughts were cut off by Dick screaming, and K’hym yelping in shock. Coming back to himself all at once, Bruce took in the scene before him. Dick and K’hym had obviously been playing on the swingset, and K’hym must have pushed too hard, as Dick had fallen off the swing, skinning his knee.
“Sorry! I’m so sorry!” K’hym said, frantic. “I didn’t mean to!”
Apologetic.
Dick sniffed, but didn’t start crying. Unfortunately, he’d been injured far worse in the past. A scraped knee was nothing compared to some of his previous injuries. It wasn’t even bleeding. He’d honestly screamed more out of shock than anything. Poking against K’hym’s psychic abilities - something that would never get less weird, no matter how many times he did it - Dick tried to speak to her.
It’s because you’re a Martian, right? You must be really strong, huh?
I’m sorry!
It’s okay, I was just shocked. That’s all.
…
You can feel how I feel, right? Do I feel mad?
… no?
Then, it’s okay, right? Let’s go on the climbing frame next!
Bruce and J’onn watched this silent conversation, then both relaxed as K’hym offered Dick a hand up, and the pair went to climb.
“You have done well in raising him,” J’onn said. “I am honoured that my daughter is able to have him as her first friend.”
And I am honoured to have you as mine.
“Have you given it any more thought?” J’onn asked, in a quiet moment where he and Bruce were spending some time together, Dick and K’hym long since sent to bed. “About us sharing our minds?”
Bruce went stiff beside him.
“It is perfectly alright if you do not want to,” J’onn added. “I would understand.”
Bruce shook his head. “I’m sorry, J’onn. I cannot.”
Fear. Shame. Regret.
“That is alright,” J’onn said. “Thank you for considering it.”
Their quiet evening together continued, though Bruce seemed on edge the entire time. Out of respect, J’onn did not pry into his mind to figure out why.
Since the trip to the park had gone well, Bruce offered to take J’onn and K’hym somewhere with more people. When both Martians agreed, he arranged for Alfred to drive them to the centre of the city, so that they could explore a little. It was their first time in central Gotham, and Bruce could tell J’onn was getting a little overwhelmed. To be fair to him, there were a lot of people, and that must have been overwhelming for a telepath. Distantly, Bruce wondered if J’onn might have fared better if he had a steady mind to attach himself to.
Then, he took the guilt that idea incurred within him and shoved it as far down into his subconsciousness as he could.
“We should find somewhere quiet to take a break,” Bruce announced. “John, why don’t you pick a place?”
Looking around, J’onn spotted a small café with a welcoming aura, pointing it out to Bruce, who smiled widely. “That looks perfect.”
The owner of the café was an older woman, who exuded a simple calm. The food she made was delicious - probably the best Earth cuisine that J’onn had the pleasure of consuming - and the café was quiet enough to not be overwhelming.
“How is your drink, John?” Bruce asked. On the other side of the table, Dick and K’hym were trying to figure out the optimum way to split their two cakes - chocolate and strawberry - so they could both have some of each other’s without giving up too much of their own. Dick insisted on giving K’hym the strawberry, since she’d never tried one before.
J’onn hummed. “I am not used to the taste of coffee, but I enjoy the smoothness of it, when prepared well. It pairs well with the coffee and walnut cake you suggested.”
“Could I try some?” Bruce asked. “It has been a while since I’ve had cake.”
“Oh, most certainly.”
Bruce expected J’onn to slide the plate over to him, and was quite surprised when J’onn moved a forkful of cake towards Bruce. It was a little odd, certainly, but Bruce didn’t want to embarrass J’onn by turning him down and making his social faux pas noticeable, so he took the proffered cake, desperately trying to stop himself from blushing.
There was no reason to be so embarrassed. J’onn was simply a good friend, who didn’t have a perfect grasp of Earth social rules yet.
Yes, that was it.
It didn’t have to mean anything more.
The next morning, Bruce went to fetch his morning papers from Alfred, only to discover a photograph of himself and J’onn on the front cover of a less reputable publication. Someone had caught a picture of them both, right as J’onn fed Bruce that forkful of cake, and a frontpage article had been written about them.
Bruce’s heart skipped a beat as he read the headline from the Gotham Confidential.
Billionaire Playboy Bruce Wayne Settles Down?
Oh… oh, no.
This could be very bad.
Bruce continued to read.
It is no secret that Bruce Wayne has been attempting to change his image since his impromptu adoption of Richard Grayson. A lavish, indulgent, playboy lifestyle doesn’t fit around a child, that’s for sure. It comes as no surprise that Bruce has made an effort to appear more mature and stable. Gone are his drunken stupors and wild parties, replaced with school fundraisers and moderately successful charity work.
It seems that Bruce Wayne might be more settled down than anyone expected. Pictured above, he was found spending an afternoon in a small café in the outskirts of Gotham city, enjoying the company of his foster son, a mysterious man, and that man's young daughter.
Bruce is no stranger to dating, obviously, but meeting the family seems like a pretty big step to us, especially with how protective Bruce has been of his son. This relationship must be getting pretty serious! Plus, this is the first time Bruce has gone on a date with another man in almost ten years, despite being openly bisexual.
Unlike most of Bruce’s previous partners, this mystery man isn’t a known public figure. Funny how no one’s ever heard of him… Bruce must be intent on keeping that smokeshow all to himself!
Could wedding bells be in our Gotham Prince’s future? This would be one hell of a royal wedding. We hope we get an invite!
Bruce slowly closed the paper, setting it down on the table. For once in his life, he had no idea how to react.
Obviously, J’onn had to know.
To Bruce’s surprise, J’onn didn’t seem all that perturbed. “If we know the truth, does it matter what other people believe?”
Bruce furrowed his brows, deep in thought. “I suppose not… it truly does not bother you?”
“Not in the slightest. If anything, this only makes our cover story more believable.”
The pair agreed to not address the rumours directly, choosing to let the paparazzi and journalists make their own assumptions. Bruce did call in a favour from Vicki Vale, having her write a positive article for the Gotham Gazette about Bruce supporting his old friend, John Jones, after he decided to move to Gotham, following the death of his wife. Other than that, very little changed. After all, there was no sense in changing their relationship to suit other people.
Not that there was a relationship there at all.
Obviously.
Later that week, Bruce, J’onn, K’hym and Dick made their way to one of Gotham’s animal shelters to volunteer. Bruce had been the one to suggest it, since K’hym was so enamoured with Ace. It had proven to be a brilliant idea, as K’hym was absolutely delighted with the dogs. Another volunteer guided them through how to feed all the hungry hounds, and K’hym gave every dog a pat on the head as she put their food down, giggling when they licked her hand.
J’onn wasn’t as fond of the dogs, so he and Bruce walked over to the cattery. To J’onn, the calm nature of cats was much more appealing, though he noticed a more distressed animal near the back of the cattery. The cat was a large, elderly, ginger tom. He was missing a few teeth and an eye, but what struck J’onn the most was how lonely the cat was.
J’onn beckoned over one of the shelter volunteers, whose face fell when they saw the animal he was gesturing towards. “Oh, that’s Double Stuff. He’s a sweet boy, but no one wants senior cats these days… It's a shame. He hasn’t adjusted well to living in a shelter.”
“Did he have a previous owner?” J’onn asked.
The volunteer nodded. “She was an elderly woman. When she passed, no one wanted to take him.”
J’onn stared at Double Stuff through the bars of his cage. The feline stopped, turning his head to the side. Then, he reached out a paw, batting at J’onn’s hand.
Hello, little one… you are as alone as I feel, aren’t you?
It was odd, establishing mental connections with animals. Their thoughts were much simpler and often more honest.
Surprise. Curiosity…
Double Stuff sniffed J’onn’s hand, looking up at him and meowing.
Not human…
J’onn moved to scratch Double Stuff between the ears. Double Stuff moved into the touch, purring.
Not human. Don’t care. Kind.
Turning to the shelter volunteer, J’onn asked, “How would I go about adopting an animal from your establishment?”
“You want him?” the volunteer said, a little shocked. “Really?”
“He has a kind soul,” J’onn said. “Everyone deserves a chance, do they not?”
Double Stuff meowed in agreement.
J’onn was immensely fond of his new pet. They spent most of their time together, barring the outings that Bruce and Dick invited him and K’hym to. Double Stuff seemed to be aware that J’onn wasn’t human - animals tended to be better at clocking J’onn as inhuman, for some reason - but he didn’t mind at all.
Time went on.
At first, Bruce only took J’onn out with Dick and K’hym in tow, but soon enough, Bruce was arranging for Alfred to watch their children, while they went out together. Bruce showed J’onn all manner of impressive places - the opera, the botanical gardens, the theatre - but J’onn got as much enjoyment out of the mundane. One night, Bruce took J’onn to a grocery store, and asked for his help choosing new food for K’hym to try. J’onn found the cookie that Double Stuff was named after, and deposited the snack in Bruce’s cart. Later, when trying a Choco with K’hym, he discovered a new favourite food.
One quiet evening, with K’hym and Dick occupied with video games in the other room, J’onn thought to ask Bruce a question that had been on his mind for a while. “Dick looks rather different from you. Are you not his biological father?”
Bruce hesitated, taking a moment to take in the question. “I thought that was obvious. He doesn’t call me his father either. Never has…”
Discontent.
“You are unhappy with that,” J’onn stated, taking in the minute twist of Bruce’s features.
“I shouldn’t be. It is unreasonable,” Bruce said, at last. “Dick lost his mother and father a little over a year ago. While I think of him like a son, he does not feel the same. His loss is still too fresh for him to consider anyone else his father. Not when he still misses his real father so much.”
“I understand,” J’onn said. “Martians are a long-lived species, and it is rare that we are killed before our time. Few Martian children outlive their parents. Even so, it does happen, sometimes. Taking in an orphaned child is a great honour. It shows respect to their parents, and love for the child. However, it does not give anyone the right to replace that child’s family. Memory must be respected, memory of the dead most of all. That is the natural way of things.”
“How do Martians honour their dead?” Bruce asked. “It has occurred to me that we have never done anything to honour M’yri’ah.”
“A burial is traditional,” J’onn said. Thinking back to the funeral pyres - to M’yri’ah’s burning body - he added, “Ritualistic burning is sometimes used, when the death caused corruption of the body.”
“Corruption?” Bruce repeated.
“Sickness,” J’onn said. “When K’hym and I ran, they were burning hundreds of bodies a day.”
Pain. Anguish. Helplessness.
Bruce reached over a hand, placing it on J’onn’s. “You do not have to speak of this, if it is too difficult.”
J’onn took a moment, centering himself, before continuing. “Honouring the dead means honouring their deaths as much as their lives. I love M’yri’ah far too much to ever let my memory of her wither.”
“Please, only share what you are comfortable with.”
“It was a plague,” J’onn said haltingly. “A terrible sickness. It killed the mind as much as it destroyed the body. There was no cure. When M’yri’ah got sick, it severed our mental connection. For the first time in decades, I had lost my connection to my wife. I did not know what to do with myself. I fell apart.”
Bruce reached out a hand, resting it on J’onn’s.
Sympathy.
“Often, I find myself expecting to feel her presence. My mind cannot accept that I am alone.”
“Not alone,” Bruce said. “I know it isn’t the same, but you have us.”
J’onn warmed, despite it all. “Yes, I do.”
Affection.
J’onn was well aware that Bruce went out as Batman almost every night, with Dick accompanying him. When Bruce would return, his mind would brush up against J’onn’s for the barest moment, letting him know that he was home, safe and sound.
Tonight, Bruce had not returned to the Cave until the sun had begun to rise. When he did, his mind was frantic, battering down against the walls of J’onn’s consciousness.
The desperation was uncharacteristic and rather frightening. J’onn descended into the Cave, where he found Batman huddled into the foetal position, trembling, his hands pressed firmly into the back of his neck in an attempt to ground himself. It was, evidently, not working. It was minor mercy that Dick had not been patrolling with him that night; seeing Bruce like this would have been highly distressing for the young child.
J’onn knelt by Bruce’s side, placing a hand on his head.
Bruce? Bruce. Can you tell me what has happened to you?
No. NO. NO!
Bruce?
LEAVE!
I will not leave.
You must leave. Leave me. Please.
Are you being affected by something?
Fear Gas. They’re dying. They’re dying again. Please, let me go. Leave me.
Bruce’s heart rate was accelerating to critical levels. He was so panicked that it could genuinely kill him, if nothing was done. Cardiac arrest , J’onn’s mind supplied, a term he had read in one of the medical journals that had once belonged to Bruce’s father.
If you allow me entry into your mind–
NO! GET OUT! GO!
I could help you. I could calm you. I could save you.
GET OUT! LEAVE! LET ME DIE!
You will not die. I will not allow it. Please, don’t make me lose you too, Bruce.
Bruce started sobbing; a terrible, awful, gut-wrenching sound. His whole body shook with it. His breathing became ragged and harsh.
They’re dying. They always die. I always kill them.
I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.
Leave me. Please. Leave me to die.
Bruce had not given J’onn permission to enter his mind, and forcing his way in there could cause potentially permanent mental damage. J’onn could do nothing but sit by Bruce, attempting to ground him with physical sensation.
It was not nearly enough, and left J’onn frustrated beyond description. If Bruce had simply allowed J’onn to help him…
It was a bitter thought, but not one that J’onn was willing to let go of.
They sat together, in the dour darkness of the Cave, until Bruce’s body gave out, and he fainted. J’onn’s heart sank, thinking for a moment that Bruce was dead, but when Bruce’s breathing steadied, J’onn calmed.
The following day, when Bruce attempted to move on, as if the events of the previous night had not occurred, J’onn found himself losing control. It was as though he had been returned to his first night on Earth, ripping Dr. Erdel’s transporter apart with his bare hands.
“I respect that you do not want to establish a mental connection, but I fail to understand why,” J’onn said, feeling true anger flaring up within him for the first time in a while. “Your refusal to connect with me, even for a moment, almost killed you. Would you leave your son an orphan again, myself and K’hym without a home, and Alfred with more grief to shoulder, for the sake of your secrets ? Are they truly worth that much to you? That much more than your family ?”
If he had been less furious, J’onn may have realised that he had, whether deliberately or not, included himself and K’hym in the category of Bruce’s family.
“My work as Batman does not concern you. You have overstepped your boundaries, J’onn.”
“Why would it not concern me?” J’onn retorted. “You almost died, last night, in my arms. I do not wish to lose another that I love.”
Bruce’s breath hitched a little at that final word.
Love.
“Please,” J’onn begged. “Explain to me, so that I might understand. I cannot help you in the future if you will not tell me why . Why does this matter to you?”
Bruce shook his head. “I cannot say.”
Helplessness.
“Cannot, or will not?” J’onn snarled.
Bruce’s silence spoke volumes.
Guilt.
J’onn’s anger gave way to fear, as he enveloped Bruce’s hand in his own. “Please, Bruce. Please.”
I cannot lose you too.
“You will not like what you see,” Bruce said, at last. “My mind is not a pleasant place to be. I do not want you to make the mistake of joining your mind to mine. My pain is my burden. It does not belong to anyone else.”
“I want to be the one you share your burden with,” J’onn said, moving even closer to Bruce. If he moved any closer, they would be touching. “Please, Bruce.”
Adoration. Affection. Love.
“I do not wish to lose you,” Bruce said. “I have become fond of you, J’onn.”
“I have become fond of you as well,” J’onn said. “More than I ever thought I would be.”
Not so soon after M’ryi’ah.
“There is no shame in pain, Bruce. You will not lose me because of it.”
“I know that,” Bruce said, though the tone of his voice made it clear that he was still uncertain.
J’onn squeezed Bruce’s hand tighter. “There is no shame in love, either.”
“You knew?” Bruce said, his voice quieter than J’onn had ever heard from him. “All this time?”
“I hadn’t realised until this moment,” J’onn said. “How often I feel affection coming from you…”
“I cannot hide a thing from you,” Bruce grumbled, though the emotion behind it was fond.
“You can hide a great deal from me, Bruce. I wish that you wouldn’t, but I will respect it, if you are sure that is what you want.”
Bruce was quiet for a long moment. “I do believe… I do not know how to be totally honest.”
Splaying their fingers to join their hands together, palm to palm, J’onn felt a swell of affection. It was hard to tell which of them it was coming from. “We could learn together.”
“Yes.”
Surprise.
“You did not expect yourself to agree,” J’onn stated.
“Admittedly, no, I did not,” Bruce said. “This will not be easy. I hope you know that. I am not any easy person to love.”
J’onn nodded in agreement. “Love is worth the effort.”
They took it slow for a few days, with Bruce allowing J’onn to access more of his surface-level thoughts and emotions. The last thing J’onn wanted was to push too far, too soon, and risk causing Bruce mental harm.
When Bruce approached J’onn, there was as much trepidation in his mind as excitement. “I think… I’m ready.”
“Are you sure?” J’onn asked, running a hand through Bruce’s hair.
“Yes,” Bruce said. “I want to go all the way.”
All the way, with you.
“We can stop at any time,” J’onn assured him. “All you need to do is call out to me in your mind. I will hear it.”
“I trust you.”
“Your trust is valued,” J’onn said, resting his head against Bruce’s. “More than you know.”
Affection. Trust. Love.
It had been a long time since J’onn had joined his mind with someone else's in such an intimate way. Not since M’yri’ah…
Are you sure this is what you want?
J’onn took a moment to consider Bruce’s question. There was a certain vulnerability that came with melding minds together, but that vulnerability bred relationships that lasted for centuries.
Yes.
Bruce’s mind was hectic, but J’onn found himself able to sift through the noise, making his way to the core of Bruce’s mind. Bruce’s subconscious thoughts were full of all manner of things - Dick & K’hym’s wellbeing, his cases, his work with the Justice League, his work with Wayne Enterprises, and more - but behind all of that, thrumming in the background, ever constant, was a single thought.
J’onn. J’onn. J’onn.
I am here, my love. You can let me in. I trust you. Do you trust me?
Yes. More than I have ever trusted anyone. Please.
J’onn could hardly say no to him.
The first joining of minds was an intimate affair. It was a promise to be there for each other, whether platonic, familial, or romantic.
J’onn was never going to let Bruce go.
They had found each other.
Ripped across a galaxy, one of two surviving Martians, J’onn had found a home. How funny that home was in the form of another person… a person lying right beside him.
He couldn’t ask for more.
One year later…
When Dick got home from school, he ran into the kitchen, throwing a copy of Gotham Confidential onto the table. “Guess who’s in the paper again,” he said, grinning.
Bruce feigned ignorance. “Who?”
Dick rolled his eyes. “Read it, Bruce!”
Royal Wedding To Hit Gotham City Later This Year
It's official! Gotham’s Prince is engaged, and Gotham Confidential were the first ones to call it! Loyal readers might remember John Jones, old friend of Bruce Wayne and mysterious smokeshow. Bruce must be pretty glad he managed to keep John secret for that long. It seems to have secured their relationship!
After being seen on various outings together, often with their children, Bruce and John stopped appearing in public about a month ago. We were worried something might have happened - Gotham’s Prince has a love for extreme sports that did not come with an aptitude for them - only to find out the brilliant news when Bruce and John attended a charity gala wearing matching engagement rings. How romantic!
We finally got that interview with John too, where he told us how Bruce offered his support while John was grieving his late wife Maria, eventually leading to their blossoming relationship. Talk about a love story for the ages!
After a lifetime of failed relationships - Harvey Dent, anyone - we think it's a miracle that Bruce has finally locked someone down. He better get John to sign a prenup, though… or he might be left single and the second richest man in Gotham.
Bruce and John are planning a summer wedding, with some big names in attendance, including members of the press. We hope we get an invite! One thing’s for sure, a love story like theirs deserves a wedding that will go down in history.
Bruce chuckled. “Who needs to make an announcement when you have the tabloids to do it for you?”
Of course, he had already told everyone he was close to about he and J’onn’s engagement weeks ago. Clark had gotten rather emotional - closet romantic that he was - and offered Bruce his sincere congratulations, telling them to expect a homemade wedding present. Personally, Bruce hoped it would be one of Ma Kent’s famous apple pies, but he wasn’t especially picky. He’d take anything made by that wonderful woman.
At that moment, J’onn and K’hym returned from the Watchtower. J’onn had established a superhero identity, calling himself the Martian Manhunter, and had been on comms duty, monitoring the entire world for signs of trouble. He still made time to be with his family, though, passing on the responsibility to other vigilantes and heroes from the Justice League when he had to. Meanwhile, K’hym had been training to be a hero, like her father. Space Girl had only made a few public appearances, but proved to be popular, especially with children. She loved to wow them with her shapeshifting abilities, and could convince anyone to open up to her.
When J’onn walked into the kitchen, Bruce felt J’onn’s mind brush up against his own.
Hello, beloved.
Welcome home, J’onn…
“Are you guys talking about the wedding?” K’hym asked, having caught glimpses of Bruce’s thoughts. “I bet it's gonna be amazing !”
“We don’t want anything too ostentatious, but we will take suggestions, if you have them,” J’onn said.
“You should have Ace be the ring bearer!” Dick exclaimed. “He could probably learn to do that.”
“Or Dubs!” K’hym interjected.
“I don’t think Double Stuff would want to do all that walking,” Bruce said. “He’s rather elderly.”
K’hym chirped sadly. “You’re probably right…”
The pair continued to exchange ideas for their parents’ wedding, with Bruce and J’onn watching fondly. J’onn reached out a hand, placing it onto Bruce’s.
I love you.
Bruce smiled.
I love you too.
They were as close as two people could be, and they wouldn’t have it any other way.