Fighters and Friends

“Please leave me be.” I told the man as he entered the room with a plate of food. “I just want to rest, I promise.” He smiled sadly at me. I felt something from him. He was strange, in a good way. He was more concerned for me as a victim than as a street person. He was afraid something had actually happened to me. Either that or he was worried he personally scared me and that thought troubled him. “I don't want to be a Kleese...a burden. I just need a minute.”

“You're either from the Middle East or another planet.” he said with a smile.

“My home planet is called Xa-Valla. But I've learned English as a second language. I just use it differently than most, because our language was formed and based more on image and emotion. Finding the right word rather than the most accurate word is what mattered to us. Well English has hard constructs and concrete ideas. Ours is more fluid...transitional.”

“How long have you been here, and please, eat something.”

I picked up the turkey sandwich he had made and started eating it. I got halfway through the sandwich before I spoke again. “On Earth, 48 years. But I've spent more time in the Himalayas and the East coast of Africa than I have in Chicago or the Andes.”

“You know this isn't an interrogation, right? I'm trying to learn about you to help you.”

“One thing you'll pretty quickly learn about me is I see no reason for any beating around of the bush. My people are direct, plain-spoken, unadorned and have no use for obfuscation unless sparing people's feelings are involved. And that's probably not going to be the case here, is it?”

“Well, that's true, but why are you so...sensitive to that then?”

“It's because my people are low-level empaths. I can sense your intentions and reactions. Whether you are concerned, suspicious, angered or scared of me. I don't read thoughts, I wouldn't if I HAD that power. But I never saw...well why would subterfuge even work...seriously?”

“Okay that makes sense I guess.”

I couldn't understand what had made him so uncomfortable. “I'm sorry did I, misunderstand the source of your confusion? I know you are not scary. In fact if more humans were like you this world would be a much nicer place. I'm just 'weary, worn and sad'. It's a physical thing, not an emotional thing, me being this twitchy. Within 30 minutes I'm going to fall asleep. You won't be able to wake me up for anything for 5 hours. I sleep 5 hours every 36 hour cycle; it's just how my body works.”

“Then I should leave and let you get some sleep, as you say.”

I woke up in the medical bay. The man who'd found me was standing a few feet in front of me next to a thinner, pale skinned man with really short black hair and a calm, open expression on his face. “You're alright, you're safe.” The first man told me, trying to calm me down. "I imagine you have questions about where you are."

“I'm at the DEO, that much is obvious.” I answered placidly. “As long as it's closer to a barracks than a laboratory, I'm fine with it.”

“Uh, what?” The younger man said, intrigued more than upset.

“This is the med-bay right? Intake? I don't mind and I will not fight being locked away. As long as it's more in a prison than a laboratory. I just want to be tucked away from everyone. To be a little more blunt about it, I want to avoid...” I motioned around with my left hand.

“A more intense version of this room.” The youthful stranger finished.

“You've been here before, at the DEO I mean?” My benefactor asked of me.

“Almost 20 years ago now. My people live...I live simply but with joy. Dry, safe in the middle of freaking nowhere. It's what I've gotten used to. I honestly would not mind being left alone in a quiet corner of this place as long as I'm on my own and actually getting something done. Not like what... last time I had A-Lot of that but the rest was...Just please tell me I'm not a lab-rat okay? Hell you didn't even know I was an alien until now, what could be learned from studying my biology?

“Absolutely nothing.” The man called James said quickly. “You are here so we can learn *from you, not *about you, I promise. Do you remember your planet?”

“I spent the first third of my life so far back there. But my planet of origin is not my home. And aren't we ignoring a MAJOR part of getting to know each-other: learning all our names?”

“Mon'el.” The paler, young man told me, pressing his palm against the top of his chest.

“James Olsen.” The darker man said, extending his hand.

“That's exquisitely appropriate.” I said as I accepted the handshake. He looked at me as if I'd just splashed his face with ice water. “The Olsen part I mean. Olsean is a tree we have back home. I grew up in a desert region a lot like your American Southwest. Olsean is a desert plant, strong and solitary that withstands anything and never withers. But it is not 'straight tall and proud' like your great oak. It grows kind of sideways which allows for flora and fauna to flourish in its shade. As I said, it never withers. It could stand up to anything except maybe a jaguar to use the closest analogy. Anyway, the description of being strong and protective seems to fit you. Most people call me 'Sasha'. I find 'Nikita' is closer to the mark. But I answer to both equally.”

“Names are descriptions for your people not simply distinctions.” A third man said in a deep enough voice to sooth a jaguar of a savage beast, except it did not have that effect on me. I looked up at him and I KNOW my face turned to ash.

“Well, this explains it.” I said in a weak voice. “Why Olsan would be working with you is beyond me. But this explains his interest, and his reluctance. Come to get an answer to the last of your questions, go ahead. But I guran-tee you Olsan, will get better answers simply by asking.” My tone was as dark as a horror movie or a cemetery. I know because Olsan looked very freaked out by my tone. I personally did NOT consider this an over-reaction.

"There is something I am not seeing." Mon'el said aloud.

"I take it you are no more from 'here' than I am?" I told him. Mon'el simply nodded.

It's amazing, both of us pass, but you're not considered a Klesse. Is that because you're a warrior?"

Mon'el looked concerned. James looked confused. Henshaw looked stunned and hurt. I particularly noticed this last thing.

“Am I missing something here?” Olsen said slowly.

“No not really but...I think I AM.” I answered even more reluctantly. “You're different, aren't you?” I said to Hank. The solider nodded. “Last time I saw you it was in an interrogation room which you tore through like a tidal wave. You tried to pull my mind apart. And probably would have succeeded, and only to your detriment. But now you're...a duty bound warrior of honor. And more of an actual warrior than a professional soldier. Restrained and proud, but not arrogant. What could...”

“You've...you were here before.” Mon'el said in a tight voice. You knew Henshaw?”

Hank Henshaw raised his hand with all five fingers bent inward. “My name...is J'onn Jo'nzz."

"A shape-shifter?" I inquired. J'onn nodded. “...You took his place. The DEO is different than before because you changed it. Well, whoever you are you have my admiration...and my gratitude.”

“Low level empath. Your use of language comes from not needing ways to show feelings. The adjectives and superlatives, what they convey, are implied...self-evident even...” He paused.

“...Which is why I use so many adjectives and superlatives when I talk. And why I almost never have the right keyword.” I finished. “Arabic makes more sense to me than English. English is my primary Earth language. Until left the DEO I sounded as native born American as anyone. Every thing else that I know, everything I've learned since then I learned in voluntary exile. Which has the ancillary benefit of my having lived more in 20 years than most people do in 70. And even if I'm not fluent, I understand a hell of a lot of earth languages now...from experience rather than studying.”