Remembering Hank Henshaw

                                            It helps if I give the entire scene.

Superman is questioning a newly arrived alien who he is convinced is responsible for a recent attack on a US senator. His passion is fueled in part because he saw the effect that intruder had on one of his friends. But while demanding answers he doesn't actually seem to want them. His attitude is "Daxamite you are this" "Daxamite why did you do this?" He is actually unaware Nikita is standing about 7 feet behind him watching the interrogation. And then suddenly...

“That's enough Superman!” Nikita near-barked at the Kryptonian. Who turned around with surprise and more than a little confusion. “We have no more reason to be suspicious of him than we do of you. Daxamite or Kryptonian, the D.E.O. has no particular opinion of either one of you. If you're going to speak as one of us, make sure it's something that would actually come out of our mouths.” She walked up to the cell that contained their latest alien guest and began typing something into the console. “Guilty until proven innocent has no place at the D.E.O. Not anymore anyway.” She sounded almost bitter, and she realized it. “And by the way, you're not one of us. You are the D.E.O.'s closest alien ally but still an ally of the D.E.O. Not a part of it. We do not share you're particular prejudices about each other and as far as J'onn is concerned you leave assuming the worst about aliens at the door the instant you walk into the door of this facility.”

“What are you doing?” Superman asked in a puzzled voice.

“I'm getting him out of that cell.”

“You don't have the authority...”

Nikita chuckled. “Actually, I do. You don't have the authority to stop me.” Nikita tilted her head, up. “C.A.T. Two-three-one-seven-four-six-one-one oblique oblique. Enable.” The force-field powered down. “Come on out.” Nikita instructed the prisoner.

“I don't understand.” The man in the cell pondered. “You're actually letting me go?”

Nikita looked caught out. “I can't let you out of this facility. You'll have to speak Director Jo'nzz about that. But there is no reason on the face of this planet -Earth- for you to stay in this cell. Come, I'll take you to my compartments.” She turned to Superman. “You assume he's responsible for the attack because he's a Daxamite. The very fact that he's a Daxamite makes it impossible. I never thought I'd say this to someone wearing that crest but open your damn eyes.”

“Okay, now I'm really confused.” The newcomer admitted. Superman's face advertized his confusion.

“The crime Kal-El is accusing you of was perpetrated by either a Kryptonian or Infernian. It involved heat vision. While you have a Kryptonian's strength and speed under our yellow sun, you do not posses any of their other incredible abilities, like heat vision. During the attack, I collapsed. Superman as he's known here on Earth was with me, and rightly guessed the attacker was responsible. Except only Infernians and White Martians affect me in such a way. It's a physiological response by body has to the very presence of either of those beings. It is therefore physically impossible for you to be responsible for any of this.”

“Whoever you are...” The stranger began. “I don't want to get you into any trouble.”

“As far as trouble with him,” She pointed to superman “that's my own damn fault and I'll take it. If you mean with my superiors...” Nikita turned back to Superman. “When J'onn asked me to join the D.E.O. I gave one condition. If I actively believe a prisoner does not belong in this cell, I can act on that belief without asking prior permission. It is literally a condition of me wearing this uniform... Such as it is.” She continued, looking at her loose fitting black top and its longer-than-regulation sleeves.

“Something else is troubling you.” Superman observed.

“Two things. Among my people introductions should come before almost anything.” She pointed to the center of her chest with her hand. “My name is Nikita, I'm Xavallen. You?”

“My name is Mon-El. I'm the former prince of Daxam.” They looked at Superman.

“The two of you would call me Kal-El. Most people on Earth know me as Superman.”

“The more troubling part is the self-defeating blindness of 'do you have anything to say for yourself, anything' and then continuing to talk as if you'd given him a chance to answer. I think he would have had something to say for himself if he wasn't talking to a brick wall. I know I would have.”

“I keep forgetting.” Kal-El said, his voice much weaker than it had been.

“Easy thing to do, we never told you. I understandably do not like to think about it.”

“I'll have to ask J'onn. Will you let him know I'm alright to talk to.

“He doesn't know.” Nikita insisted fiercely. “I mean, he knows the basics, we went through the timeline fo everything the first time we even met but if you want to know why this is all so personal for me, why it burns me to see you falling into the same trap, I never told him. You'd have to talk to the man whose FACE J'onn is wearing for that.” Nikita motioned Mon-El out of the room. He followed her silently.

'Okay by now this is stating the obvious but, they know you're an alien.” Mon-El observed as they walked the corridors.

“Yes.” Nikita replied simply. “Human looking alien who prefers reading a book and sharing knowledge to picking up any kind of weapon. The rest of this conversation should wait to be said in private.”

“Can't argue with you there.”

Nikita turned a corner and suddenly they seemed to be at a dead end. She simply turned to the door at her left. Pressing her four fingertips against the pad next to the door she addressed the air. “One-one-four. Seven-point-two.” The door slid aside.

“Does everything here work on a numerical system?”

“No. Only things requiring my participation. They're number sequences from my personal past, things that don't have any meaning to anyone else.”

“So not only would no one else ever use them, no one else could ever guess them.”

“Exactly.”

Nikita's quarters were packed but comfortable. A dark blue sofa in front of a coffee table. A sofa seat next to the bookshelf in the far right corner of the room. A narrow hall on the left which presumably led to a washroom and sleeping quarters. He sat across from the sofa.

“I'll make us some coffee. It's a pretty cool way to clear your head. Take a seat.”

“I don't suppose you could pour me a glass of ale instead?”

“I'm not against it. But J'onn will be coming soon to check on you. Clearing fuzz out of your brain is more advisable.” Nikita rummaged around in her kitchenette for supplies. Soon the coffeemaker was gurgling. She came out carrying two narrow white mugs and a tall thermos. Setting the objects down she smiled at her guest. “Mon-El, in case I didn't make it clear, you are most welcome here. Certainly as far as I care.”

Mon-El took the hint and sat down in the sofa seat. Nikita sat down in the darker sofa, facing him. “J'onn,” Mon-El began. “Same man as director Jo'nzz?”

“Yeah. And that's as good a starting point as any.” Raising her glass. “To friends and family may whatever 'God' may be keep them safe and hold them in his hand.”

“Cheers to that.” They clinked mugs and drank.

“I've been an agent of the D.E.O...the Department of Extra-normal Operations for about three years now. But when I was first brought in through its doors, I was considered an 'enemy alien'. No particular reason for it, except the answers I gave didn't make any sense to Hank. A man named Hank Henshaw was the director of the place at the time. He thought the only reason I looked this human is because I was trying to fit in. Kept trying to get me to show him what I really look like.” She held her hands to her face. “This IS what I really look like. He couldn't figure any reason for me to have lived on Earth for more than 50 years without telling anyone I was an alien, except espionage. In the 50 years I had been on Earth I told exactly two people that I was Xavallen. One was an alien himself. The other a good man who used to work here. I had no reason to tell Hank Henshaw a damn thing.”

“What changed?”

“The director, J'onn Jo'nzz, he's an alien himself. And a shape-shifter. When Hank Henshaw died J'onn assumed his identity. We've spent the four years since trying to reform the D.E.O into something better than what I found. I have never felt more 'Henshaw'd' then I did when Superman was talking to you. And I serve under a man wearing his face.”

“Deus. No wonder this was so personal for you.”

“This is literally the first time I've really talked about it. I don't even talk to J'onn about my time here before. But there is something, there is one memory I should share with him.”

The door chimed. “Come in.” A black man in his mid forties, well built with short-cropped hair entered the room. A holstered weapon hung at his side. It could not be doubted he was a person of authority, and preparedness.

“I take it this is our latest alien visitor?”

“Yes. But introductions should come first.” Nikita replied.

“My name is Mon-El; I'm the former prince of a planet called Daxam.”

“I am J'onn Jo'nzz. I'm the director at the Department of Extra-normal Operations.”

“From what Nikita tells me you're a fair-minded man and patient. I hope you will be patient with me.”

“I'll do my best.” J'onn answered with a soft smile. “We'll put you in guest quarters for now. And I will tell you up front you will not leave the D.E.O unaccompanied. Do you you understand and accept this?”

“Does leaving with Nikita qualify as 'accompanied'? If so I have no problem with it.”

“Nikita, was everything above board?”

“I can honestly say I don't understand the question.”

“I am not concerned with how much of our operation he knows about. I'm wondering how much of your history you've shared with him.”

“If I didn't know you, I'd think you were jealous. But to answer your question, or rather the reasoning behind your question: I trust him as much as I trust Winn, as much as I trust Kal-El, as much as I trusted you when I first met you.” J'onn took half a step back. “And if you look at the past 28 minutes of my memories, you will see the extent to which that is true.” She nodded sagely. J'onn put his hand to Nikita's temple. A few seconds later his eyes snapped open. Nikita regardeed J'onn with dreadful seriousness. „eemaanadaaree hamesha zaroori hai. jo zaroori hai vah vyavsayik ya apratyaashit ho sakata hai, lekin kabhee bhee naasamajhee nahin hotee.“

J'onn mentally translated her words. Honesty is always necessary. What is necessary (honesty) may be unprofessional or unexpected, but is never unwise.

"I understand that." He turned to Mon-El. "Excuse us for a moment."

"What was the memory?" Nikita looked at him with deliberate blankness. "I saw your conversation and the metnion fo teh memory. What was the memory?“

"I will tell you about it...when the memory itself is the focus of the conversation. It's when things changed. Hank decided he could trust me to a certain point, and I decided how much I would do for Jeremiah, that I would literally do anything to protect him. Although it turned out I wasn't very good at that part.“ Nikita said with self-directed contempt. “You know, someday you're going to tell me what happened.“

"I don't understand. You were there. You did everything you could to protect Jeremiah from me. I gained at least one friend that day because of you.“

"But I don't know what happened to him!“ Nikita exploded. "I know he died that night. And given how you talk about him and the fact that I saw Henshaw's body, he probably died saving you from that monster. But I don't know what happened to him. I was busy being unconscious at the time.“

"You...“

"J'onn I know Jeremiah didn't survive that mission. That is ALL I ever knew.“

Nepenthe

“One question Harrison,” Joe West said peaceably. “I don't doubt for a second anything you've said about that night. What have you been doing since then?”

“I stopped following the pages like a script and started seeing them more as guideposts and mile-markers. I try not to even look at or read the records until we're dealing with a creep that might be mentioned in them. I eventually realized this ship might have belonged to the original man in yellow, who I call the Reverse Flash. I stole his suit when I searched his ship. It wasn't until Joe actually answered the question for me that I put most of it together.”

Every eye in the room turned to Detective West.

“What you told me about Tess, that was real?”

“That after her death I decided to start over? Eventually taking it upon myself to fulfill Thawne's role, based on these future records? And I just realized I didn't tell you about that. But yes Joe, I was more or less hunting the Man in Yellow. I'm starting to think he was following a script of his own; and must have returned to his own time.”

Detective Thawne spoke. “Time for the obvious question, who the hell were you talking to?!”

There is a scene I've written a couple of times Gideon and Harrison Wells in the time-vault. I just found a different version of that scene that is a million times more thought out and polished. It opens with something I'm familiar with but ends on a hilarious and powerful note I never read before.

“Dr. Wells. I realize this won't make what you're going through any easier but you did the right thing.”

“Funny. I always thought NOT committing murder was generally considered 'the right thing'.”

“Yes, this is true. However Nora Allen's murder under quote 'impossible' circumstances is not only a fixed point in time, it is the beginning of the Flash's story. A history and a legacy I am certain should not be – as people in this time are apparently fond of say – 'screwed with'.”

“In other words Gideon, Barry Allen will become the hero you spoke of. And defending his 'impossible' account of tonight events is a significant part of his formative years. Is that what you are saying.” Gideon made no reply. “That one I insist you answer.” Harrison said sharply.

“You are correct Dr. Wells.” She hesitated. “Should I provide you with a mild sedative? I believe they once considered whiskey to be quite soothing to the nerves.”

“No, I will be alright Gideon. Although I admit I am having an 'all great Neptune's ocean' moment about the whole thing.”

“Nepenthe rather than Lethe Dr. Wells.”

Wells looks cross-eyed for a second as he searches his college English lexicon. “Sooth the pain rather than forget it.”

“Indeed Doctor. You have roughly 15 years in which to begin to do so.” Harrison's eyes widened. “I do not mean to suggest you have 15 years to live. According to my current records your life's work will come to fruition in approximately 15 years. You will change the world forever. Barry Allen will be one of the first to need your help.”

“I'll have to wait at least 15 years to tell him any of this? That seems... agonizing.”

“Indeed so Doctor Wells. And yes it is 'agonizing. I am tempted to reveal to you one other facet of our future together.”

“Please, nothing more from the future for tonight. In fact, nothing from your recorded history unless we deviate from it. Agreed?"

“Most readily, Dr. Wells.”

Astra's Final Surprise

This is turning into quite the scene!

“No, leave her alone!” Jeremiah cried. He reached up and was faced with guns from two alien soldiers. “Take me, please.”

“We cannot let her go. We cannot risk her running back to her superiors..”

“Her friends.” Jeremiah corrected automatically. “She has no 'superiors'. Only friends and fellows. One particularly close friend.”

Another solider forward and waved the other aside. “How close are we to her friends?”

“I won't betray them. And I will not let Sarrin out of my sight.”

“Then you're coming with us. Which was is their camp we'll go the other way.”

Jeremiah hesitated. Sarrin stood up. “No Jeremiah. They are sincere. And I don't think they have any interest in Arias.”

“I can assure you that much is true.” The officer promised.

“We should learn each-others names. My name is Jeremiah, this is Sarrin.”

“I am Lieutenant Non. This is General Astra.”

“You're not from here either are you?”

“We are not.”

“Okay, so what happens now?”

“Now we figure out what your friend knows about a friend of ours.”

“It's been two weeks.” Jeremiah thought to himself. “every time they take her and she's gone for hours. Why don' they ever question me? They must be looking for answers (they think) only another alien can provide. But what are they doing to her? Every time they bring her back, she can barely move. 'no that's not right' he forcefully corrected himself. 'She's dazed and disoriented but it is not fair to say she can barely move.' “Why does she defend them?” He pondered aloud. The guard looked more closely at him but gave no other sign he had even heard him speak. Jeremiah faced the man more directly. “What is it about Astra that has Sarrin so deferential to her?”

“GENERAL Astra inspires loyalty. Lt. Non commands it. The Atraxi very wisely does not resist their presence. I mean, why would she?”

“Atraxi...You're Kryptonians!”

“What of it?”

“I...assumed you were White Martians...maybe Elana's race. That you were looking for J'onn or one of my other friends. Well, this explains a lot. Not everything__but a lot.”

The guard stepped aside when Lt. Non brought Sarrin back into the compact, comfortable room that served as their cell. “It's alright. I'm just tired. It's been 31 hours after all.”

“I'm not sure I understand. But...I understand more than I did.” Sarrin smiled and instantly fell into the most peaceful, motionless sleep Jeremiah had ever imagined witnessing. He had to admit that was probably normal for Sarrin's race. He sat down against the rear wall of their cell and tried to sort his thoughts. General Astra and Lt. Non might well be married. But they were soldiers first and foremost: they addressed each-other by rank, at least in front of their guests. The outlines they wore on their left breast next to their shoulders was probably military insignia. But they bore no family crests. So either they had been dis-commended, or they were not from one of the great houses, as Sarrin had once described Kryptonian families.

“36 hours. 36 hours.” Sarrin muttered, sitting up.

“I'll ask you about that later. I think I understand why you keep defending them. ALL Kryptonians were your 'superiors' back on their planet, weren't they?”

“Just so.” Jeremiah gave her an entreating look. “If I had been two years older when ...everything happened, I'd still have a dark blue cloth above my elbow indicating which great house I served. They are Kryptonians. It wouldn't occur to me to question their honesty. Unless my empathic abilities told me otherwise. And I sense no such matter.”

Lt. Non returned ten minutes later. Jeremiah stood between Sarrin and the solider, his hand stretched toward non as if putting distance between himself and hideous danger. “Leave her alone.” Jeremiah declared with a forcefulness that caught Non's attention.

“That's quite a change. We knew you were a good-hearted man and an honest one. Now I see that you have a spine as well as a tongue.”

“And I intend to use both. Please, whatever you want from her, take me instead.” He seemed to consider the man in front of him. “Would it do any good to beg for it?”

The flat tone of his voice made it hard to determine if it was an inquiry or an assumption. Non stared at him and he levelly returned the stare. Finally Non shook his head. “That you are willing to do so tells me enough. Come with me.”

“You seem different today Mr. Danvers.” General Astra prompted him.

“You're Kryptonians. It was the only thing that could explain Sarrin's deferential attitude toward you. You have no interest in any of my friends do you...the ones at Arias.”

“Not unless one of them is a blonde-haired young woman who is energized by the sun.” Jeremiah's head perked up. “We are looking for one of our own kind. Where is she?”

“I don't know who you're looking for.”

Non gave a fierce backhand to Jeremiah's jaw. The man didn't flinch. “Where is she?!”

“I don't know who you're talking about.” Jeremiah insisted just as fiercely. Non took a threatening step closer. “I don't think you would have me lie.”

"Jeremiah, this place you keep talking about, Arias, does it live up to its name?" Astra asked thoughtfully.

"Extremely so."

“You live in a sanctuary for peaceful aliens.” Non observed.

“For almost 5 years now.” Jeremiah answered. “What of it?” Non did not reply, nor did he need to. “J'onn leads a group of vastly different species some look very closely human, like Sarrin. Some completely human, by choice or otherwise. Some have powder blue skin and golden-tinted eyes. Are you looking for one of them?”

“We are looking for one of our own. A young woman who would be wearing this symbol.” Non tossed Sarrin's notebook to the ground. It fell open to a very familiar page.

“The house of El?” Jeremiah said in a strange voice. Non's face went rigid with determination. “Are you FROM the house of El?”

“You know it?” Astra demanded fiercely. “What do you know of it?”

In response Jeremiah held his right hand up, all four fingers bent toward his palm, his thumb against the thick of his hand. He was taking an oath. “My son, Elias would wear this symbol. His Kryptonian name is Kal-El. It was his 10^th birthday when we found the ship that brought him to Earth and learned this much. I didn't know the significance of the symbol until I came to Arias and met Sarrin. While she was born on Krypton, she is not herself Kryptonian. She's the one who drew this symbol. A man who wore this on his chest saved her life when she was a child. When Krypton was destroyed. So the symbol was understandably burned into her memory. All of these things I swear to you.”

General Astra's features softened. "I'm looking for Kara Zor-El. She would be Kal-El's cousin."

"And you are her family." Jeremiah surmised.

"Yes. But neither of us are of the house of El. Kara's mother and I were sisters."

"What was Kal-El's father's name?"

"His name was Jor-El. I've often wondered why Jor would send his son to Earth of all places."

"I cannot help you solve that mystery. All I know is that my son survived the destruction of his planet and I have raised him since he was almost 6 years old. I am not claiming credit. The only thing I'd claim credit for is protecting Nikita or befriending Sarrin."

"If we had been interested in hurting her..." Non prompted.

"I would have done anything to take her place. For J'onn's sake if not my own."

Superman's Finest Moments

Think Man of Steel version of both General Zod and Superman but Superman has a family.

Batman stood over Superman, his foot on the alien's throat. Superman looked, soft...weak. Then again, that's what kryptonite did to him, made him vulnerable. “You were never a god. You were never even a man.“

“Don't let her die.“ Superman gasped.

“What are you talking about?“ Batman demanded angrily.

“Please, save her.“ Superman begged. It was plain this woman meant the world to him.

For a moment, Batman hesitated. “Your own death a heartbeat away and you plead for her life?“ He took his foot off Superman's throat but kept the spear at his face. “Why?“

“You're afraid of me. You hate me for what I am__or what you think I did. So be it. I'd fight you to the death for her freedom and I will surrender to you for the same reason.“

“You are strange, for a Kryptonian.“

“I told you before Bruce – we are not all like him.“

“How did you...?“

“Superman may be a strange visitor from another planet. But at least he's trying to help. And he's not terrorizing people to send a message.“

“Criminals.“ Bruce Wayne said definitively.

“Not just criminals Mr. Wayne. I've been to Gotham. Ordinary citizens live terrified of the bat vigilante. He thinks he's above the law.“

“And you're star-spangled alien friend doesn't?“

“I'm sorry?“ Clark replied, trying to contain his surprise.

“Just that every time Metroplois...the Daily Planet's hero saves a cat out of a tree you write a fluffy editorial about him...an alien who, if he wanted to could burn the entrie place to the ground. There wouldn't be a damn thing we could do to stop it.“

“Superman--we don't know anything about him. But we have no reason to assume he's evil incarnate.“ Bruce stared at him, silently as if expecting him to realize the fallacy of what he'd said. “So in your view all humans are like Hitler? All Americans are Richard Nixon?“

“I'm saying he's not human. And if there is even a chance he's like that psychopath (Zod) in any way, we have to be able to defend ourselves.“

Batman stumbled backward. “...Clark. Clark Kent?“ Superman nodded miserably. Batman stumbled backward his head spinning. With one heave he threw the spear away.

Superman stood up slowly, getting his balance. “I take it this means you no longer want to cut me open and play with my insides?“ He said, rubbing his throat gently. Batman stared, his mouth frozen open. “Look, all I care about right now is that you and Lex have a friend of mine hostage. You help me rescue her, we'll call it even.“

“You are as wrong about me as I was about you. I would never take hostages.“

“She's the prize and price. Lex arranged this for you. A chance for you to end my life and for me to save Nikita's. I meant it when I said I would fight you to the death –my death at least– for her. I wouldn't BE here otherwise.“

“Clark, I honestly have no idea who you're talking about.“

Superman looked searchingly into Bruce's eyes. For a tenth of a second. Realization dawned on his face. "Lex you son of a bitch.“

Batman did not feel particularly inclined to argue with him.

“Would it be cliché to say 'let's end this.'?“ Batman asked glibly.

“Cliché, but appropriate.“ Superman answered.

Kal-El moved to stand 20 paces away from the general. He dropped to his knees and bowed his head over them. “I implore you General, do not make her suffer for my mistakes. Enforce your will upon me alone.” Struck by a sudden thought, he slowly raised his head. “What is it you want from me anyway?”

“Your submission and complete surrender.”

Kal-El placed his hands on the floor in front of him, his palms flat, fingers spread wide apart. He lowered his head until he could almost touch to floor with his face. “I submit. I'll do whatever you ask Zod. I swear it on my heat. But I beg of you, let her go.”

“GENERAL Zod, you worm.” A female solider barked at him.

“Yes, General Zod, of course.” Kal-El corrected himself, not looking up.

“Why do you humiliate yourself for her?” The General questioned firmly. “Look up and answer me. What is so special about her that you humiliate yourself so completely on the mere hope that I will show her mercy?”

“General, let me save her. Let me bring her home. Then you can do what you wish to me.”

“ 'Bring her home.'“ The general echoed. “She's your daughter.”

“Please.” Superman cried, unconsciously jumping to his feet. “I'll do whatever you ask, just leave my wife and daughter alone.”

“Agreed Kal.” At Zod's consent, Kal-El glided toward his daughter and lifted her from the pit. As he laid her on the shore, he looked up to see the general gazing down. Zod's face betrayed no emotion as he placed his hand on the woman's left rib-cage, feeling her pulse.

“She'll be alright, in a few hours.”

“Will you let me take her home?”

“Of course Kal. But I'm coming with you.”

“I expected nothing else.” The hero remarked, his easy tone disguising the unease in his heart. Jor-El's living memory had indicated General Zod was a man of honor, if heartless by human standards. His own experience proved the man was only concerned with the future of his species, not his own ego.

Lois was out in the driveway when they landed. “What is going on? Who is this?”

Clark laid his daughter gently in the grass. “This is General Zod. I have to leave with him.”

“I don't understand.”

“That's not surprising.” The general quipped with through sarcasm.

Clark swallowed the urge to throw Zod a dirty look. Instead he threw his arms around Lois. “You and Aisha are safe. That's all that matters. Take care of each-other.. I love you both.”

“It's time to go Kal-El.” Superman pulled himself away from his wife and walked toward the general with the mien of someone going to a funeral. “I'm ready.” They took to the skies together. In a few minutes they arrived in the Atari mountains. The General said nothing, apparently expecting Kal to make the first overture. Kal-El dropped to one knee and spread his hands, palms up. Looking not unlike a highland Scotsman begging for forgiveness. “I am yours. For the rest of my life.”

“Good. Now get up off the floor and talk to me like a Kryptonian.”

It was only then Kal-El realized making him a slave had never been part of Zod's plans. Complete surrender had been exactly that 'I will fight no more' not 'I place my head under your foot'. 

Which, when he thought about it, he should have known that. For one, it was unworthy of a solider to so humiliate a defeated opponent and General Zod had proven himself not just a military leader but a true soldier. He was also Krypton's military leader and did everything for the survival and well-being of his species. Kal-El was in his eyes a fellow Kryptonian that he did not want to have to fight on the battlefield. His inaction had been assured and that was that. Zod had nothing against him personally.

"I will fight no more, forever."

"I'm sorry?" Zod replied, turning to him.

"You wanted me out of your way, not...on my face before you."

"Of course Kal. There is no reason for you to bend your back to me. Your father was my greatest friend. I will not dishonor his memory by demoralizing you."

"I apologize for my assumption."

A Stranger than normal Friend

Earth-21 Elana Morris (Later to be Elana Stien) Receives a surprisingly civil visitor.

“Martin, come in, please.”

“Thank you. I just came by to see how you are feeling.”

“The atmospheric specifications are holding. Things are filtered, diluted enough I can breath way easier than before. Now all I have to do is De-atrophy my muscles.” She rubs her leg, half-grinning. “But that'll take time.”

“Something I imagine you'll have a lot of. I'm still somewhat surprised J'onn let you out.”

“Well, if anything does go worse, I'll call. But, well for one, relax Martin. No standing on ceremony when we're off the clock. Forgive me is that how you prefer to be addressed?”

“I'm confused.”

“You're the kind of person I'd feel happy calling by their first name. But with the intense academia of your demeanor and just the fact that I know you as a doctor/scientist first, I thought I'd check.”

“Well as you say, we're 'off the clock', Martin will do just fine.”

“Cool. I'll make us some coffee.” Elana took grounds, water and filters out before Martin could say anything.

“Why not a glass of red wine?” The spoon stopped over the carafe. She didn't look away and continued filling it.

“Don't have any right now. Besides I need to clear the fuzz out of my brain.”

“Makes sense.”

A few minutes later Elana handed her guest a small mug of black coffee. “I have to say, I'm not sure J'onn would understand this.”

“He'd think something was 'going on' between us just because we're having coffee?”

Elana pulled her hands behind her back and said in a clipped tone. “I do not believe J'onn J'onzz would understand this, not at first anyway.”

Martin Stein put the mug on the table. A moment later the appearance of Martin Stein vanished and in his place was a petite, green-skinned alien with four digits on her fingers and a very confused expression on her face. “What gave me away? If you were telepathic or empathic you wouldn't have been fooled for a minute. Something must have given me away, what was it?”

“Red wine.” Elana said simply. “It's one of two alcohols I keep around and usually I would have it on hand, and you picked up on that. But Martin wouldn't have asked for it; he  doesn't drink red wine...only white.” She chuckled. “Believe me, I did not actually do that intentionally. The coffee really is for you.”

The woman picked up the mug, sniffed it briefly and drank. “I must admit, you seem to be taking this remarkably well.”

“I figure if you wanted to hurt me, you'd have done so by now. So why don't you tell me who you are and what you want.”

“My name is Me'gann Mor'zz. I'm here to learn about J'onn...and by extension the D.E.O. Are you seriously not bothered by this?”

“Like I said, J'onn would have a problem with it. I don't care.”

“As peaceful an alien as J'onn himself.”

“Well you should know better than most not all aliens are assholes to each-other. By the way, is the air as thin for you as it is for me? I never learned Martian physiology well enough to tell.”

“You should know, this...isn't my true form either.”

Elana stood to face her guest squarely. Holding her hands away at  from her sides. “If you met most of my people YOU would be running away in fear.”  Elana began twisting her arm and her fingers in ways that would break her bones if done to her, or if she were human. “Are you scared of me?” Me'gann gave no answer. “The consideration I give, I also ask for: The possibility of exceptions to the rule."

“Okay I appreciate the sentiment but I'm not sure you understand. This isn't my natural form either.”

“I'm EN-KARE-AN.” The Martian who had first appeared as Martin Stein backed away a step.

"On my mother's side." Elana continued. "My father was human. Do I correctly believe that if I was entirely of my mother's people you would have a reason to...make an extra effort NOT to tick me off?"

"You believe extremely correctly. And this explains why you knew what J'onn's reaction to me would be. You know what I really look like?"

"J'onn's the last of his kind. If another of his kind existed, they wouldn't need me as an intermediary."

My story about 'Dining on Ashes' and the rift that developed between J'onn and Nikita originally stemmed from this hurriedly written scene. But I lost it as soon as I'd written it. Like by the time I wrote the whole 'Another Chapter of Time' story...well literally this was a faded memory. I later wrote the story with Mon'el and Nikita on a romantic getaway and it served well enough as an origin or a 'chapter one' to Dining on Ashes.. But this disguised visitor surprising the hell out of HER host is what I had in mind, when J'onn and Kal were commiserating and Superman consoled him counseled him about the one time his face made sense. I stumbled upon this just tonight, for the first time so many months after it was written. I wasn't even sure I'd gotten it down. I wasn't looking for anything else in particular. Just a document to paste a short conversation from something else onto. Which is serious serendipity. 

"Mon'el, she didn't torture me."

"She was crawling around inside your head, inside your memories!"

"No, she was walking among them as I would walk down a cobbled street or a hallway at the DEO. But that's just because her people are psychics. If I could look into the mind of another I would see the neuronal pathways of thier mind like literal pathways: streets or corridors or something. Green and White Martians both share that ability and they have the strong minds required to compartmentalize and sort what they see. But she stayed in my mind for 3 solid hours and I couldn't take it. I'm an empath, not a telepath."

"You've had other people inside your head?" The woman asked. I could tell Mon'el was thinking it too.

"Well, sort of. J'onn told me that you're people send thoughts and link minds, share emotions, dreams...memories. So occasionally he'd look into my mind to make sure he understood what I was trying to say. Or so he could SEE the memory rather than rely on the description of it. Especially when it was a memory so important to us both. Our first meeting around the campfire and the 11 weeks leading to it was such a time. But that only took a few minutes and he had specific rooms he was looking for. My body simply wasn't strong enough to handle another person's mind inside of it for such a prolonged length of time... opening THAT many doors. So many memories reawakening. I'm a receiver not a transmitter. I can't send my own thoughts. Which means unlike for most humans who experience this a door once opened can not be stepped through in either direction. I've actually shut down the part of my mind that would want to try."
"Then why did you..." Me'gann seemed at a loss for words.
"If I'd said 'look in any rooms but these' what would you have done? If I'd put any kind of a limit on where or how long to look...the point was to be open-minded and to show you that I didn't have secrets. Secrets profit strangers nothing. Lies even less so. But please, I ask you once more, and hopefully for the last time: What do you intend to do with us?"

"I saw enough to know you're not with Henshaw. I knew you were DEO agents and under the command of their director. I assumed you were here looking for me. Why ARE you out in the middle of nowhere?”
 "We were heading for a place...a cabin." Mon'el responded. "We were taking a vacation." Some color crept into his cheeks as if he was being called out in front of an auditorium. "And I would have proposed by the fire. J'onn gave me his blessing."

"I imagine he was pleased when you asked his permission." Nikita said with a smile. "J'onn is the closest thing to a father I have here." She explained to her host. I'm 78 years old and he takes care of me." A look of realization passed over the Zavallen's face. "Hank Henshaw has been dead for nine years Ma'am. J'onn J'onzz assumed his identity after...After a mission very much like the one you thought we were on."

"Henshaw hunted him. J'onn defeated him." 

"Yeah. I was on that mission. I still shake my head at myself for assuming the Martian we were pursuing was...Phobos not Deimos."

"Then Mon'el is correct. This situation is incredibly similar. And my name is Me'gann M'orzz."

In front of Me'gann, Mon'el takes Nikita's hand and asks

'Will you take me as your husband?' Nikita says I do.

“My people agree that there is a creator. We don't believe in fate so much as providence. And our favorite thing to do is discuss our own beliefs and conclusions about the nature of the divine being that crated the universe. We have conferences of like-minded people, but we don't separate ourselves by our faith. Certainly not by how we feel we should honor our One God.” Elana looked sideways at Martin. “All Abrahamic faiths make perfect sense to me. Their view of God lines up perfectly with my won. But I happen to think they line up with each-other too. To me all Islam, Christianity and Judaism are is vastly different traditions and concepts on how to perceive or relate to the same God of our-all of your ancestors. You shouldn't call people stupid for thinking or even being raised differently than you. Back home we would have gotten that.”

“I'm sorry but, 'back home'?”

“My mom raised me with everything she would have learned in primary or secondary school in Teresina. It's my ancestral homeland on her side. This also means I know how my people would have viewed or interpreted almost anything I see here. WE all had different religions. Or actually we didn't form religion around our spiritual beliefs. Very different from Kryptonians or Martians, they literally all worship the same God. Heritage and culture, well you know as well as anyone how much the two get blurred together sometimes...And the kind of strength that can give a culture.”

“Yes, indeed I do.” Martin said hesitatingly.

“Sorry, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“It's fine, refreshing actually.”

“To know someone who doesn't mince words but insists on being respectful as they refuse to?”

“Well that plus just talking about things either of us feel like talking about.” Martin looked around nervously. “And do I assume your shadow is still very interested in you-slash-us?”

“I should say that whatever has given me these visions, I've learned to trust it. That even if what I see isn't happening, I'm seeing it for a reason. And yes, whoever was SO interested in someone like me, is still around. But I'm not entirely sure he's not wearing a mask, using an image in my head that's so fresh for me, having just received and being so focused on what I saw. Also, I cannot for the life of my fathom why I got an early-warning system about him in the first place. What I saw is so fantastical, even by DEO standards, it's not like I'll be able to convince anyone I'm right about him?”

“Perhaps it was more for his sake than yours?” Martin said thoughtfully. “So he wouldn't have as much explaining to do. Or so that someone else will be able to consider- that is give weight and clarity to- his his 'fantastical' story?”

“So I can clarify & confirm what he says when I do bring him in? Trust me, he should want to come. I hope to heaven that you are right and that he's not wearing that kind of a mask. For one he shouldn't exist anymore than J'onn should have. So without a warning or some kind of head's up  *I* wouldn't believe this story. And *I* wouldn't have believed it out of his or anyone's mouth.”

“Okay, that one you are going to have to explain.”

“That J'onn shouldn't exist? Well obviously he should exist but when the DEO first encountered him they were wrong about what he was. I mean...Well, you know who J'onn is right?”

“He's a shape-shifting alien who reformed the DEO into what it is, as opposed to under his predecessor. Also a Green Martian, a steadfast warrior...an a man of honor by all I can tell of him.”

“Exactly, he's a Green Martian...And he never told you that part. Oh...crap.” Elana looked down, clearly dejected and thoroughly displeased with herself.

“We should get going. We should head back.”

“Yeah, no kidding. Time to breath DEO air again...literally and non-sarcastically.”

“You mean you can't breath unfiltered air for long?” Marin said putting $20 on the table. “Not a complete shot in the dark. J'onn told me that you are not asthmatic; but the result is the same.”

“ 'There's not enough air in the air'...is 10 degrees off. More like there's too much of something else and I can't breathe -- and thereby I can't process the 'air' of this atmosphere either. In human physiology if oxygen bonds with sulfur you can't process oxygen. Same for us with the... Aeon? Argon in the air. It's like breathing in smog. It's smothering. Eventually my breathing goes shallow. Hyp-O-ventilating essentially.”

“Adding to the list of reasons you don't usually leave the D.E.O.”

Nikita simply nodded.

Ten minutes later they were in their car and heading back to the DEO. Elana in the front passenger seat of Martin's Impala. “How much do you know about when J'onn and Nikita first met? When the original Hank Henshaw was still around and the impressions everyone left on each-other?”

“Very little I'm afraid. I know Henshaw was a close-minded jerk who saw all aliens as potential enemies. I know Nikita had been a prisoner at the DEO but with the help of a sympathetic agent, who means a great deal to her she was became more of an asset than an inmate. She was in custody but here to do a job. I know that J'onn was an alien they had to go to the northern Canadian Rockies to find. And neither Director Henshaw nor the other agent were said to have survived.”

“After that mission Nikita was invited to become a full agent of the D.E.O and J'onn took Hank's face and identity in order to reform the D.E.O. And Superman has been 'in' on their agreement and intention since day one. Listen, I can tell you everything Nikita told me, she wouldn't mind it. I cannot say anything that was not contained in her story. These will be Nikita's words and feelings. I feel that to give my own, or anything of J'onn's story that I myself have learned, without permission, would violate J'onn's trust.”

“Well, okay.” And when she was done Martin was looking at her with a new admiration. “You really are in-tuned with emotions...even those not actually your own.”

Elana looked at him thoroughly thrown off balance. “Of course, I'm Enkaren.” Martin's face showed his lack of understanding. “My people's empathic abilities are such that traumatic hypnosis would be a thing if I were full-blooded.”

“Could you run that by me again in elaborated English?”

“You know how I get when I sing a song? If you have an open mind you see it in your mind's eye as well. Or here..” She put her left hand to the side of her own face and played an image of cool winds blowing over fields of wildflowers. “If I were entirely of my mother's people, that wouldn't have been in your minds eye. You would have whole-heartedly believed you were there and never questioned it.  It would be a full-sensory, even physical experience; indistinguishable from the ground and surroundings in which you truly stand. Not to say it was always a weapon of war. We would use it to calm a troubled sea or stir up a tempest. But in general using our minds as a weapon against our enemies would be the first thing we'd think of. That is why my people are so feared among alien races. The only difference is that my mother never taught me to use my abilities that way. She wasn't that kind of person. Even if I were pure-blooded traumatic hypnosis would be a misnomer.” Elana looked away, sadly.

“...What happened to her?” Martin asked in a weak voice.

“Nothing bad. She was an old woman when I was born. She died when I was in my 20's. I was 31 years old when I attacked an assailant – someone who was beating someone else up – and ended up doing enough damage he died from his injuries. That man turned out to be a cop. And I got arrested being so disregardful of law and order that killing a cop was nothing to me. If a persons position is such that wronging him is a worse crime than wronging a civilian he should be required to Identify himself. Maybe he was supposed to but he never declared himself. I sure as hell didn't mean to kill him. That was the result, not my intention. And no one could figure out how a little shrimp like me could have caused enough damage to kill him -someone as fit as a police detective- unless I'd knowingly or willfully use enough force to do so. It's not like a pacifist can accidently kill a solider, right? So I spent 15 years in a DEO cell. Wondering why I wasn't sent to a normal prison if they didn't know I was an alien? Turns out it was because one man did figure out what I was. And that chances were good table-salt would burn me or I'd react to a normal painkiller like it was a powerful sedative or even hallucinogen. At the D.E.O. I was cared for by people who knew who I was and I met J'onn J'onzz when he was doing his rounds. In him and then in you I have found someone actually willing to talk to me just for the sake of talking...All because a man like Hank Henshaw actually saw what was going on...and no one else did.”

A few hours later when it was time for the evening meal, Nasir joined Almaric and a few other soldiers at their table. The meal was made up mostly of chicken, bread and root vegetables. With mead served as well as water. A fact which made the guest of honor smile shyly.

“What's the matter?” Almaric inquired, sincerely concerned.

“You know Halal that well?” Was the quick, soft answer. “Mead is the only...celebrant, inebriate...we are allowed, after our book. More than that...it matters to you?”

“It is only practical to serve food that all can share.” Almaric stated smiling. “And this isn't so different from what is normally served. We wouldn't kill a pig for this anyway, and mead is mellow compared to red wine.”

“I count it as consideration. I thank you for it.” Nassir replied. Almaric could see he thoroughly meant it. 

They sat down. Nasir had decided to say a silent prayer, with no outward sign. Then he saw that each of them had bowed their heads for a prayer as well, and therefore would not be put out at his own sign of gratitude toward God. With an abbreviated prayer and a nod of thanks, he ate.

“How did you meet Balian?” Almaric asked him presently.

“My former master decided to challenge the man he saw as nothing but a lost peasant for possession of his horse.” The Saracen replied almost at once. He slowed his words as he continued. “Mummad Al Fais was on horse charging Balian on foot. When Balian declared himself the Baron of Ibelin, it was only right to even the playing field. My master, my old friend, soon lost that skirmish.”

At the end of a personal conversation about the earliest memories of her life, Sasha starts acting out motions to a play, singing 'Good King Wenceslas', facing North when her friend is standing East. It's something Merlin has never seen in her before. He didn't know she had such a wellspring of knowledge, of memory. It wasn't drama, it wasn't art or theater. It was a hidden memory not a hidden talent and he got that. She smiles at him, warmly, appreciatively, even though he literally said nothing and made no outward sign. She explains her smile and her song by that statement. What happens next in the conversation?

After effusively defending the alien menace she's harboring, Sasha Jordan Scott turns to 'Joe'

“That wasn't posturing you know, I was serious. I trust you a lot more than I trust him. He is breaking our laws coming into a private residence without permission, searching the place without prob--a reason to think something illegal is going on. Also I know enough about you to trust you. You are both a guest in my house and my responsibility. I will do everything in my power to keep you safe. No one with a brain in their skull insults a friend of mine in my house."

“Do you remember how__ you became who you are now? Do you remember how___it felt to breathe without gasping With all your might?”

“What does that mean?” Superman asked.

Once I realized he was asking me not her I answered. “She was repeating something earlier, a chant or a song. It seemed like she was trying to tell us something important. And she is. This lyric must have something...You can breathe but the air is too thin for you. It hurts to talk...because you run out of air?”

Not thin__Contaminated.

Superman looked like someone had just slapped him in the head with a 2x4 made of lead. “There is something in our air that literally hurts you. You gag on our atmosphere. Which is why we can't hear you, or they can't. But why would that...” She held up her hand to say 'wait' and started writing again.

The resonance of my voice with your air. The 'air' resonates differently with my vocal cords. You can hear me...kryptonian powers here on Earth. But while not my native state, in these conditions my voice is subsonic...Or might as well be. Yet giving others super-hearing isn't the only answer.

"And for her people, for Enkarens that was very A-typical. They were warriors born. Not aggressive, not tyrannical by any means, but fighters all the same." She looked over to her friend. "Like I told you Martin. My abilities being weaker, my emotions being diluted and not in pure form, is the result of my mixed heritage. That I actually have control over my 'quick temper' and why my 'hot blood' is never very explosive...that's because my mother raised me right." Elana blushed. "Well, it's because she raised me as she did. In a way most Enkarens wouldn't consider to be right and natural thinking.  And in a style, with a set of values most races who've even heard of us wouldn't think of as 'Enkaren'.

Elana stares hard and Querl Dox. A moment alter she shakes her head. "Director, Nikita would be a better help to you than I. And not just because my head is full of air right now." 

J'onn looked at his friend with sympathy. "You should go to your quarters and lie down."

Querl Dox looked with concern as Martin took Elana by the arm and half-guided, half carried her to the room that served as Elana's quarters at the D.E.O. "I am afraid I do not understand is she...ill?"

J'onn Jo'nzz glanced back at the visitor. "Do you know enough about Enkaren physiology to know why the air itself is slightly toxic to them?"

"Enkarens would use an argon gas chamber to execute criminals." Querl said immediately. "The amount of Argon in Earth's atmosphere would make them feel like they were breathing in smog...And the air filtration systems here at the D.E.O would allow her to breathe what would be for her 'pure air'. without any apparatus."

"You really do know a lot about practically everything."

I realize Elana introduced me to you as Querl Dox. But I would actually prefer to be addressed by my designation, Brainiac-5. My friends just call me 'Brainy'."

"Not close to your family?"

"A less formal name implies a familiarity I find...comforting. And for my people calling one by there individual name is...actually setting them apart from the rest of thier family."

"You're related to Indigo." J'onn realized quickly. "How is that possible."