Introducing Mon-El

Superman is questioning a newly captured individual who he is convinced is responsible for a recent attack on a US senator. His attitude is "Daxamite you are this" "Daxamite why did you do this?" Acting under the assumption he is guilty. He doesn't know Nikita is standing inside the room watching him, being too fixated on the man in front of him. At one point he says "People at the D.E.O. are too smart to buy your act" or words to that effect. At which point....

“That's enough Superman!” Nikita near-barked at the Kryptonian. Who turned around with surprise and more than a little confusion. “We do not share you're particular prejudices about each other. Earth, the D.E.O. especially has no more reason to be suspicious of him based on his race than we would for any of your people based solely on the fact that they are Kryptonian. 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. “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. Guilty until proven innocent is not how human law works and it's not how things roll here anymore.”
She sounded almost bitter, and she realized it. “As far as J'onn is concerned you leave assuming the worst about aliens - ANY aliens- at the door when you walk through it.”

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

“I'm letting him out of that cell.”

“You don't have the authority...”

Nikita chuckled. “Actually, I do. I'm J'onn's second in command, remember? You don't have the authority to stop me.” Nikita tilted her head, up. “C.A.T.”

“Ready.” A computerized voice replied.

“Two-three-one-seven-four-six-one-one oblique oblique. Enable.” The force-field powered down. “Come on out.” Nikita instructed the man.

“I don't understand. 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 on, I'll take you to my compartments.” Nikita turned to Superman. “You assumed he's responsible for this attacks 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 stranger admitted.

"At least we have that much in common." Superman remarked.

“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. Only Infernians and White Martians affect me in such a way. It's a physiological response my body has to the very presence of either of those beings. It's 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 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 person 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 slightly longer than normal 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 right hand. “My name is Nikita, I'm Xavallen. You?” She indicated the former prisoner.

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

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

The tone of the last few words confused them both. She spoke with certainty of what she would have done 'given the chance', not what she would have done if she had ever been placed in this position. It took Kal-El a few seconds to realize why.

“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 should ask J'onn. Will you tell him it's okay to share with me?"

“He doesn't know.” Nikita insisted fiercely. “I mean, he knows the basics, we went through everything the first time we even met. It burns me to see a freaking hero fall into the same trap as a man I refer to as 'ignorant' and 'arrogant'. But if you want to know what that 'trap' felt like...  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 quickly and quietly. It seemed hard for him to be able to form a word.

“Okay by now this is stating the obvious but, they know you're an alien.”

“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.” She replied cheerfully. “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.”

Nikita's quarters were compact but comfortable. A dark blue sofa in front of a coffee table. A sofa seat next to the bookshelf in the far right corner. A narrow hall on the left led to a washroom and sleeping quarters. 

“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?” Mon-El quipped sitting by the coffee table.

“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, stood from the floor and sat down in the sofa seat. Nikita sat in the darker sofa, facing him. “J'onn,” Mon-El began. “the 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. unless I had some sort of espionage reason for coming to Earth. I fled my planet but not from war, famine or disease. And that didn't make any sense to him whatsoever. And I can see why it wouldn't. At the time I had been on earth for about 55 years and had told exactly 2 people 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.”

"...hence... if you weren't talking to a 'brick wall'." Mon-El nodded in understanding. “What changed?”

“The director, J'onn Jo'nzz, he's an alien himself. And a shape-shifter. When Henshaw died, J'onn assumed his identity, face and voice. We've spent 3 years trying to reform the D.E.O into something better than what I first knew. 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.”

“Nikita tells me you are fair-minded and patient. I hope you will be patient with me.”

“I'll do my best. We'll put you in guest quarters for now. I 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'm not concerned with how much of our operation he knows about. I wonder 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. If not completely why.” She nodded sagely, assuring J'onn of her permission. 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, you mentioned  a particular 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 did everything you could to protect Jeremiah from me."

"But I don't know what happened to him!" Nikita interrupted. Her voice almost desperate. "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 a little unconscious at the time."

J'onn looked like someone had tried to strangle him with a whip. “You...You don't...“

Nikita looked tiredly at him. “I know Jeremiah did not survive our mission. That's ALL I ever knew.“