Chapter 1
All Mon-El could hear as he closed the door behind him was the sound of his own heart pounding, loud and fast in his ears, like it wanted to escape his chest. Could Kara hear it too? Was she listening? He knew she could hear it if she wanted to, but would she do that? He didn’t think she would… he didn’t think she cared enough. Sure, she said she cared about him. But not in the right way… his internal monologue chimed in, unhelpfully.
Mon-El sighed audibly, running his hand through his hair, then cast a worried glance at her door before deciding he should hurry away before doing anything else embarrassing that she might overhear. He knew personally how hard it was to turn off super-hearing, and hers was so much more powerful than his. More often than not you had to just pretend you hadn’t heard something you clearly did, and hope your poker face was good enough to hide the truth.
And Kara had her poker face mastered. Infuriatingly so, if he was being honest. As he walked the streets of National City back to the bar where he intended to get thoroughly and quickly intoxicated, he replayed all of her facial expressions in his head, hoping to find a crack or something to go on. For the most part she had been void of emotion. She looked more shocked than anything. But there was this lip wobble… and she touched her glasses. And maybe he had listened and her heart had been pounding too. But he didn’t know what to make of that anyway. It was probably just because she didn’t want to hear what he was saying, she didn’t feel the same way.
He turned left here, right there, lost in his mind the whole time. He didn’t need to pay attention to the directions, he’d gone this way from Kara’s apartment so many times before. Back when they’d been close. When she would smile at him or giggle or playfully push him on the shoulder when he’d tease her or say something unknowingly silly sounding on Earth (that happened a lot). Back before he’d ruined everything.
And he was positive that’s what he’d done, though he did grant the fact that he had had no other option. It was that or lose her all together. And he’d rather have her in his life in some capacity than not at all. He had believed her when she told him she no longer trusted him, such was the true-north nature of her moral compass. He truly believed that she would have rather he let her die than abandon those police officers. She truly was goodness personified.
Honestly, her rejection of his feelings was probably for the best… Because how could a man like him ever deserve a woman like Kara Zor-El, anyway. He could probably live 100 years and not be worthy of her love. Thinking about it, Mon-El was almost glad she hadn’t returned his feelings, because he hadn’t earned them. Truly, he was lucky. Because if she had reciprocated, and all because… because she thought that she could trust him… that he wasn’t keeping any more lies from her… how could he live with that? Because it wasn’t true.
Finally Mon-El arrived at the bar. The new door… man? Thing? He didn’t know what to call Za’chik considering their race only had one gender and apparently only reproduced when they came in contact with some sort of mineral from their home planet. He knew this because he’d given it a shot and tried to hit on Za’chik when they first got hired. What was the harm? And the pickings had been slim, since the... incident. But they hadn’t been the least bit interested, which had been a bit of a blow to Mon-El’s ego, though nothing compared to the rejection of Kara Zor-El.
The door peep-hole slid open and Za’chik’s piercing yellow eyes appeared. “Password?” they croaked.
“Come on, Za, it’s me, Mon-El. Open up.” He said hurriedly.
“If you were Mon-El you’d know the password. You’re the one that set it.” Za’chik replied suspiciously. They had been extra-weary lately, and Mon-El couldn’t really blame them. Shape shifters weren’t unheard of, and Za didn’t even know the White Martians were coming, who knows they could already be here. Mon-El had only just heard about that today and they could look like anyone…
“Alright, Za, Club Soda, now let me in. I need a drink, or 10. Maybe more. We’ll see, But at least 10.” He gave a half hearted smile to the toxic-yellow eyes and the peep hole snapped shut, he heard the sound of locks turning, and the door opened. It was with great relief that Mon-El stepped inside. The sounds of pool balls cracking, people talking over the music, it all just soothed him. He let them wash over him. This felt as close to home as he’d felt on Earth.
That’s not true. The voice came from his head unbidden. He tried to push the thought away. She didn’t count. He didn’t get to think of her that way… not unless- not unless she felt the same way back. And she didn’t. But he couldn’t think about that. At least, not until he’d had at least a few of whatever it was in that bottle he intended to drink, the one he’d mistakenly poured for Kara on his first day of work.
Pulling out 4 glasses, he laid them out and filled them all, downing the first one standing there, behind the bar. Lara, the acting bartender, gave him a dirty look. “You know, you’re supposed to pay for those.” She said, her voice full of disdain.
“Oh Lara, don’t be like that.” Mon-El said, smirking at her as he lifted the second cup to his mouth, tilted it back and taking the whole thing in one go. “I thought we had something special.” He said, pouting exaggeratedly. She scowled angrily at this.
“Go sit down. You can only be back here on nights you work. And from now on you PAY for your drinks, you hear me?” She asked him, her webbed finger pointing at a booth in the corner, betraying the only obvious sign she was not native to Earth.
“Yeesh, touchy.” He grumped, rolling his eyes and realizing as he did that the room spun a farther than it should have. He wobbled a bit as he stood there for a moment. What was in that bottle? Whatever it was, it was strong. He picked up the two remaining glasses he’d poured and impulsively at the last moment swiped the bottle and stumbled slightly on his way to the booth.
Slumping down into the worn leather seat of the booth, he took another shot of the mystery drink and felt the world go fuzzier. But not fuzzy enough to block out the constant playback of his discussion with Kara. Memories of images and words flashed in his mind as he leaned forward on his fists, propped up by his elbows.
He was feeling so many emotions, he didn’t really know how to handle it. He had never felt so much before. Certainly not for a female, but if he was being honest, not at all. He had been raised so… separate… so numb to it all. He had never cared strongly about anything during his time on Daxam, because there was nothing TO care about. He had been with dozens and dozens of women there, but he had never cared because why should he? He was promised away anyways, his parents choosing his future mate for political reasons before he had even been born. All the girls before? They were just… for fun. They knew it couldn’t be serious… not with a prince of all people. It had only been too easy to flit from girl to girl, spending his time flirting and dancing and drinking. Mostly to numb the cold dead feeling he had had in his heart his whole life. Well, until now…
He knew no one would understand, but it hadn’t been easy to be Prince. No one listened to him, no one cared what he thought, his whole life had been planned for him since before he had been born. Who he would mate with, where he would study, how he would rule the planet. His father had started taking him on trips to Slaver’s Moon not long before the… before he had been evacuated. Apparently it was time he grew up and started taking part in Family business and affairs.
That had been a real eye opener. He had had slaves his whole life. His nursemaid was a slave, and she practically raised him. He had honestly not really thought much of it, it was such an ordinary part of his existence. But that first trip… it had really shown him how powerless he was to make any changes in his life. He had objected with his father when he saw… when he first truly understood what slavery was. But it had fallen on deaf ears. Well actually it hadn’t, his father had smacked him wholly across the face and told him to stop acting like a child, that this was a long and storied part of the tradition of Daxam.
It hadn’t sat well with him, then or now, to know that that was the kind of place he belonged to, the kind of blood that ran through his veins. But he had always been able to just go distract himself with some new girl to get his mind off of it. It had never set his stomach to turning the way it had recently, knowing in his core that he was a bad person. He supposed he had never worried about it before because he had never truly known what honour had meant before. He had no examples. Good, wholesome, brave people like Kara… they just didn’t exist on Daxam. He supposed what it came down to was that he had never had to worry about being worthy of anyone’s love before… it had just never mattered. But now?
In his heart, Mon-El knew that was why he had fallen short of the whole truth tonight. He kept going over and over the conversation, thinking of ways he could have worked in the whole truth and not just part of it. But there was no way, not without losing her entirely… And as miserable as Mon-El was now, knowing that Kara hadn’t returned his feelings, knowing that the only memory he would ever have of kissing those soft lips would always be shiny around the edges and surreal feeling (on account of him dying)… at least he was still her partner. At least he would still see her tomorrow.
And he had made sure of that, repeated it twice, and she hadn’t said no. Because he didn’t know what he would do if she had said no. That she didn’t want to work with him anymore. If he didn’t get to see her every day. He had to tell her something to save that. As unworthy of her as he was, he was still here, stranded, all alone on a foreign planet and without Kara, he would have nothing. No reason to live, really. And as selfish as it was, he just couldn’t bear that.
To save their partnership, to restore her trust in him, he had to tell her the truth about his feelings. It was the most vulnerable he had ever felt, but he couldn’t tell her the whole story. She wouldn’t understand. She would reject him outright. He threw back his last drink at the thought, slamming the glass down onto the table and shattering it, and just sat there staring at the broken pieces of glass. The pieces swam in and out of focus as he pouted down at them. Then he squinted at the shiny, broken pieces… were they talking to him?
“Mon-El?” They asked, sounding concerned. He twisted his face in confusion and tilted his ear down to the table to listen. “Mon-El, are you okay?” He heard again. From this angle, he could see someone standing at the end of the booth but he shooshed them harshly, his finger to his lips, which he now noticed were feeling rather numb.
“Shhhhh!” He told the figure harshly as he scrunched his face up to listen, pointing down at the table. “The glass is talking to me!” That’s when the figure slid in to the bench across from him and nudged him to sit up straight which he did begrudgingly. He rocked in place for a moment as he regained his balance and the face in front of him swam until it settled into the familiar features of Alex Danvers. Great. Kara’s sister.
“I don’t think you need this!” She said, snatching away the bottle and examining it. “Fermented Tamaranian Ale? You should be more careful with this, Mon-El! Half a thimble and I’d probably be on my ass.” She said disapprovingly. She put the bottle back down on the table and Mon-El grabbed it back quickly, taking a rebellious swig and returning it to the table careful not to smash the glass.
“I can handle it, I don’t know if you heard but I’m the other Superman.” He said leaning forward with a drunken smirk and raised eyebrow. Alex snorted and crossed her arms as she leaned back and examined him. He didn’t’ like the look on her face. She was too smart, too good at reading people. Suddenly self conscious, Mon-El tried his best to sit up straight and not look drunk. He liked to think he succeeded with flying colours but the look on Alex’s face made him think otherwise. It was amused and worried at the same time.
“Ok, other Superman, are you going to tell me why you’re here alone drunk as a skunk talking to table tops? Should I call Kara?” She asked. Mon-El’s eyes went wide.
“No! Don’t call Kara!” He said, probably too strongly if he was judging by Alex’s narrowed eyes at his response. “And… what’s a skunk?” He asked, genuinely curious.
“You didn’t answer my question. And why don’t you want me to call Kara?” She asked. This wasn’t fair, she was too good at this and he wasn’t good at evasion even at his most sober.
“And I honestly don’t know what a skunk is. I guess they drink a lot?” He asked, a last ditched effort at diversion. Alex didn’t even answer him. She just raised one very stern looking eyebrow.
Sighing because he knew he was about to lose, Mon-El slumped down onto his hand, his cheek smooshing up and half closing his right eye. He was going to need another drink.