Chapter 3
It had been almost a week and if it was possible, Mon-El was more miserable than ever. It was probably because he hadn’t seen Kara at all. He had thought he had saved his friendship and maybe more importantly his partnership with Kara by telling her the truth, but he hadn’t seen her since the night that would forever be known as that night. The night he confessed how he felt about her and ran away before he could be outright rejected. And despite her promise that she would see him and work with him the next day, things just hadn’t worked out exactly that way.
Mon-El had showed up bright and early, ready to pretend he was ok and hopefully move on as partners in crime (fighting), but Kara hadn’t shown up. When he texted her she hadn’t replied until hours later, and even to someone as naïve and trusting as Mon-El, he had known it was an excuse. She had been avoiding him. And if he wasn’t lying to himself (which he was trying his hardest to do), it hurt.
He could hardly blame her, he guessed. He had made her feel awkward because he had confessed his lov---caring for her. He had to mentally replace the word every time it popped into his head. Cursed Alex, he thought bitterly to himself. He hadn’t realized his feelings were so strong until he had stupidly talked to Kara’s sister while out-of-his-mind on out-of-this-world alcohol. That stuff had been like truth serum and he had woken up with a bad headache but even worse regrets.
And so the week had been long. And it had been made longer because he had given up his greatest coping mechanism as well. It was like he wanted to just cold-turkey (he had just learned that term) all his misery at once. He was already miserable without Kara, why not give up drinking, too? He tried to convince himself he was doing it because he had gotten so over-the-top drunk on That Night, and his body needed a break, but he knew the truth deep down. He was doing it because of Kara. To better himself. Why else did he do anything, since coming to Earth? In the end, that’s what everything in his life came down to these days.
And he knew he could have switched to Coke or Sprite or even just water… but he had in the past week instead become addicted to club soda. He couldn’t even trick himself into thinking that wasn’t because of her. Everything was about Kara, as much as he tried to deny it. And everything reminded him of her. That one bar stool at the end of the bar reminded him of Kara. The booth they had sat in reminded him of her. The big industrial fan near the entrance reminded him of her because he remembered seeing her strong silhouette standing in front of it once. The whole damn bar reminded him of her, he couldn’t escape it.
His instinct was to run. He had never faced feelings like this before, let alone rejection. And to have to deal with it all at once, it was like torture. So after talking with some of the manliest men that had come through the bar about his feelings, he had resolved himself upon deeply repressing them. He would simply push all the lov—caring down, deep down, and every time he saw something that reminded him of her, he would force himself to smile. And find someone to talk to. Because even if his smile wasn’t genuine, it beat frowning, or worse… crying.
So far it had worked. He doubted anyone that interacted with him in the last few days would even know anything was wrong. He did know he was pretty good at that… keeping his emotions hidden beneath the surface. It had been essential to survival on Daxam. He had to be funny and charming on the surface, it was what was expected of him. If anyone had known how soft he really was… He shook his head, attempting to shake the memories of his lost home. Daxam is dead. He told himself. Earth is home now. He had told himself that same thing hundreds of times now, but it still didn’t feel real. Most of the time it felt like he had just taken a trip, and he would be summoned back any time, and he’d have to leave… to leave Kara… the thought brought up a lump in his throat.
And that’s when he looked up. And she was there. Kara. Standing there, looking for someone. Him? He didn’t know. Smile, Mon-El! He urged himself. Smile! But instead he stood there frozen, gawking at her in disbelief. With her hair pulled back, glasses on, and a chaste spotted blouse, she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen… and it just hurt so much he couldn’t bear it.
For what felt like minutes but was probably seconds, he stood there frozen until the voice in his head that was screaming Move! Do something! got too loud and he sprang into action. At first he thought maybe she was there for Alex, or to meet someone else, and he didn’t know what he was thinking, that she might not see him if he didn’t move? It made no sense. But no, she was looking right at him. And she didn’t look happy. No No No, he thought desperately, he wasn’t ready for this. She was here to take whatever hope he might still have (not much) and to make sure none was left. He could tell by the look on her face.
As she walked towards him, he rushed to grab a glass of club soda. He was an expert at pouring it now, he’d been drinking it all week. He knew it was better with lime so he threw in a slice at the last moment and turned back to her to face the music. “Club soda on the rocks.” He said, handing her the glass and wondering if he was succeeding with his fake smile. He sure was trying, but he didn’t think he it worked. The last thing he wanted Kara to know was how miserable he was, but he didn’t think he’d be able to hide it from her… anyone else, maybe. But not her.
And to try to hide his pain, he turned his attention to another patron, doing his best to ignore her. There, he thought, Just a professional bartender-tendee interaction. No need to talk about things, and definitely no need to hope… He stopped short at that part. While his brain knew that Kara had come to put all of his feelings to rest, his heart couldn’t help but… well it couldn’t help but hope. He tried to deny it, but the pain was bubbling up anew and he just couldn’t handle it. He did his best to ignore her, despite the fact that she was sitting right on the other side of his well.
“Thank you,” She said, looking down at the drink sadly. He still wouldn’t look at her. For some reason the guy at the end of the bar was suddenly really interesting. Or so he hoped she thought… He just couldn’t bear to look at her and have her see the pain in his eyes. Because he knew she didn’t need her x-ray vision to see how much he was hurting. He hoped she would leave it there. Just say thank you and then leave him to his rejection. But of course he couldn’t keep ignoring her when she continued. “Uhhhhh, hey. Hey… Mon-El?”
Slowly, with tremendous trepidation, he turned back to her and tried to act casual. Like his heart wasn’t already in a thousand pieces. Deflect with humour, deflect with humour. The words repeated in his head as he slowly raised his eyes to finally meet hers. “Uhhh, ya?” He said with what he hoped was the perfect amount of disinterest. Why was she doing this? Couldn’t she just leave it alone?
“I know… things have been a little weird...” She started, scratching her head awkwardly. Instantly any tiny hope that remained that she had come to reveal she felt the same way he did was smashed to bits. Nothing good ever started with an awkward head scratch. Stop talking stop talking stop talking he begged her with his mind, knowing that mind reading was the one power she didn’t already possess, but she continued anyways. “Since… that conversation we had the other night.” She added, like he didn’t already know what she was talking about. He looked away from her, trying to look disinterested. But he couldn’t keep ignoring her for long. She was forcing his hand.
With a deep sigh, Mon-El slumped down onto the bar, leaning on his elbows. “Right.” He agreed reluctantly. He still had hope… not so much for her returned affections, he knew that wasn’t going to happen. But he did hope that if they just talked, and it went well… that maybe they could get back to the way they were before… before… That Night.
Deflect with humour. “You know, I’ve been talking with some of the regulars, and apparently Earth males are only supposed to express their-their feelings about uh, sports and occasionally monster trucks.” He added with a raise of his eyebrows, hopefully with humour, trying to lighten the mood and express to Kara how much he didn’t want to talk about it anymore. “So… who knew.” He added, trying to put an end to the conversation, standing up and turning away, looking for some kind of, he didn’t know, bar emergency? Something that needed his attention, something that wasn’t the love of his life sitting across from him, looking cute as she came to make sure… actually he didn’t know what she was here to make sure of. But he sensed it wasn’t good.
So he turned and walked away from her, supposedly preoccupied by his bar duties, and started pouring a beer. He hoped she’d catch a hint. To his surprise and displeasure, though, she followed him right over to where he stood, stuck until the drink finished pouring.
“No… no!” She argued. “It… was… great!... that you were honest. That’s actually a trait that women like in men, but… but here’s the thing, um…” Oh no, here we go. Mon-El thought miserably to himself. Can’t we just not do this right now? Another time maybe? Later? Never? “You were right.” She followed up, causing Mon-El to look up at her unwillingly. His heart had stopped along with his breathing as he waited for her to finish. “I’m not so sure we are a good match.” She followed up, and Mon-El knew he had stopped effectively covering his sadness. All hope lost, he looked at her from across the bar, and then sadly down at the drink he was pouring, just wondering why she was saying this or what she wanted him to say in return.
It took him a minute before he could shake it off and hastily nod his head in agreement, raising his eyebrows in what he hoped was a believable way to show he agreed. Could she see tell he was lying? Probably. But he didn’t see much choice but to go along with it. “Yeah, yeah-yeah, no… um, I’m just glad we’re on the same page.” He lied, hoping she believed him. Instead of looking convinced, her pursed lips and anguished look confused him.
Kara swung her head around awkwardly, like she couldn’t decide if she was nodding or shaking her head, her smile not touching her eyes. “I mean, I-I have my career in journalism that I just started out on, and in the meantime, when I’m not being Supergirl, I really need to focus on that!” She said quickly, the words just falling out of her mouth, and Mon-El involuntarily felt his hopes rise yet again. She seemed to be trying to explain a reason they couldn’t be together that had nothing to do with her not returning his feelings! And he could totally understand it, too… she just started this new job, and Supergirl was already a full time job as it was… He tried not to let his hopes get too high, which was a good thing… because they were about to come crashing down all over again. Because not a second later she continued.
“And, and even if I did have time to date someone, I wouldn’t date someone like—“ And there it was. What Mon-El had been dreading to hear. He knew he wasn’t good enough for Kara, he had always known it. But to hear it from her own mouth? It was a pain he didn’t think he could ever recover from. He rolled his eyes as he turned back to her, only to find her, foot firmly in mouth, playing with her glasses and looking panicked. He didn’t have to be able to read minds to know that she hadn’t meant to say that, but that it was the truth. And now she was going all in, trying to explain her way out of the hurt she had obviously just caused. “Someone who-who- who is…” She trailed off, staring at the ceiling, looking at anyone but Mon-El.
And as she spoke, a strange phenomenon was happening to him. He felt himself becoming numb. He knew maybe the feeling wouldn’t last, that it was probably just a coping mechanism, but he was latching on to that numbness with every fiber of his being and trying to resurrect smirky, funny, playboy Mon-El. The Mon-El that didn’t take anything too seriously. Mon-El of Daxam.
So, channeling all of the Daxamite blood in his veins, Mon-El smirked at Kara as he finished her sentence. “An intergalactic bartender?” He asked dryly. Hoping it was just that. To his relief, Kara perked up, smiling with relief.
“Yes!” She agreed, and he hoped she would just leave it there and let him move on.
“Yes. Okay, good.” He concluded, turning away to other work. But to his annoyance and dismay, Kara decided she needed to further clarify. Like she was upset she had hurt him, like he had misunderstood what she meant.
“Well no… No!” She stammered, hastily following him as he moved down towards the other side of the bar. Why wouldn’t she just leave it where it was? Wasn’t it bad enough already? “No! Because it’s… it’s not your job.” She clarified. Well great, Mon-El thought, then it must just be me. “It’s – it’s-“ She stammered, gesturing wildly but not finding the words she wanted. “It’s… the way you are.” She said.
And every word hurt like a lead bullet to his heart. Didn’t she know how much he had worked on himself, how much he had changed since meeting her? If she still didn’t like him, and not just him… the way he was… then what could he possibly do about that?
He stood there for a moment, frozen by the pain the words had caused him. Unable to do anything but nod his head slowly, frowning, letting them sink in. Finally understanding just HOW MUCH she didn’t care about him. He couldn’t think of a thing to say and didn’t want to break down in tears in front of her. Especially after finding out that that was frowned upon with Earth men… He didn’t think he still had the power of speech. But somehow, he managed to pull himself together. Kara was standing there with her eyes closed, like she knew how horrible what she said had sounded, but it didn’t matter. Not anymore.
Smiling his saddest smile, he pointed down towards the other end of the bar. It wasn’t his serving well tonight, but he didn’t care. And he didn’t want her to keep following him. “I am…” He started. Keep it together, Mon-El. “Going to go over there now.” He finished. And with that he turned and walked away towards the other end of the bar to start cleaning some glasses. Anything to keep him busy. And by some miracle, she didn’t follow him.
In the future Mon-El would look back on this memory with a sort of haze, like it was a dream. Such was the state of his mind as he stood there, pretend laughing with some aliens about something he hadn’t even heard them say, while he tried and failed to process all of the new, awful feelings going on inside him. Because the numbness was leaving and the hurt was returning and it felt surreal, that he was just standing there, on an alien planet, pretending he was ok while he did everything he could not to look back at Kara, who for some reason decided to stay there, at the bar, possibly just to torture him.
He knew that last part wasn’t true, that Kara would never intentionally hurt him. As she sat there talking to Alex, oblivious to his pain…. He knew she would never have stayed had she known how much he wanted her to leave. He also knew she probably hadn’t meant to say most of what she said tonight. That was part of her awkward, sweet charm most of the time. That she adorably would put her foot in her mouth but always because she had the best intentions. They never just seemed to come out right.
He knew all of this, but he also knew that it didn’t matter whether or not she had meant to say those things to him… he knew that they were true. He wasn’t good enough for her, and she would never feel about him in the same way. The same thing he had known to be true, she believed. Mon-El didn’t know why this should surprise him, but he supposed he had held out hope, because Kara had been able to see the good side of him, even when he couldn’t. He guessed he hoped that she would have remained optimistic and that maybe she thought he was better than he was. That she would see him for the man he could be, not the man he was.
As the pain washed over him, Mon-El dared to sneak a peek down towards where the Danvers sisters were sitting, but it wasn’t Kara’s eye that caught his. Alex was looking at him, and as their eyes met, she frowned and nodded her head in a sympathetic gesture before turning back to Kara. And Mon-El didn’t know what it was about this one little look, a nod of the head, but it took the last of the air out of him. Alex was acknowledging that she knew how he really felt and she was sorry it didn’t work out.
Before that one nod of her head, Mon-El had felt frozen, paralyzed. Despite engaging in benign conversation and laughing with bar patrons and giving the outward appearance of a cool, collected person, he had been frozen to the spot in sadness, in awkwardness, and in desperation. But suddenly, he felt his mind ramp up gears and go into motion. He couldn’t let this be. He couldn’t have people feel such sympathy for him… He didn’t want to be pathetic. He suddenly hated himself for letting Alex know how he felt. He was the Prince of Daxam… if his father could see him now, he would disown him.
The thought made Mon-El incredibly sad. At the loss of his family and planet, yes. But also for stooping so low as to think like that… to think of himself as Prince… like that meant something. That was nothing to be proud of. He didn’t know why the thought had even come to his head but it only further proved his point to himself that he wasn’t good enough for her. Pushing the sadness aside, his mind was moving. He was determined to push through this funk. There was no changing Kara’s mind. She had made that abundantly clear.
Mon-El had to do something, anything, to get out of this funk. He knew he wasn’t going to throw himself at Kara, or concoct some zany scheme or over the top attempt at winning her over. Despite the hurt her words caused him tonight, he still loved her. He couldn’t deny that. But more than that he respected her. She was good, and pure, and she deserved to be believed, to be respected. She came to the bar with express intent to end any romantic hopes that Mon-El may have, he had to take that to heart.
And so, with a heavy heart and a sigh, he turned to a bar regular who had been telling raunchy stories while getting progressively drunker. “Hey, Creed, what was that phone app you guys were playing with? The one with the girls, and the swiping?” he asked, his most genuine fake smile plastered across his face as he handed his phone across the bar. This. This was the answer. He had to move on. It was his only hope.