Henry Shawn Danvers

 Elana, an alien resident at the DEO and formerly its prisoner explains why she doesn't hate the director that interrogated her for 6 years.

Henry Shawn Danvers
“I figured we'd have to have this conversation eventually.” I said to Henshaw when he was at the threshold of my compartments.
“I take it you know why I'm here?” He replied in a voice as full of restraint as of regret.
“To get to the truth of something that hasn't left your sight since...well for a long time. Not 'clearing the air' as much as a 'just so we're clear' conversation. I'd actually like it if Mon-el were to stay. For someone besides us to know why the assumption makes sense and why it isn't reality, might help us both. But he's not required to. Mon-el, if you want to go, you should go.”
“I'm staying. If for no other reason than to learn where you stand on anything, I'm staying.”
“Why don't you hate me?” Henshaw stated point-blank.
“There are two and a half reasons why I should. One is that I made the decision a long time ago that I'd rather feel sorrow than anger and disappointment than regret. And this is back on Atridia. Every time I made a fist ready to punch something I would transform that anger into kind of a sad, quiet feeling. It got to the point people thought I was incapable of experiencing or even understanding the very normal emotions of anger or hatred. In an entire species of empaths, the inability to feel emotions made me seem 'damaged'. Really I just didn't see the point of holding a hot coal with the intent of throwing it at someone. I carried that conscious choice here. It's not an oath, it's a way of life and it is NOT easy. I've spent my life being not just a person fo peace btu of restraint, self awareness and impeccable composure and forbearance. I don't see that changing. Somewhat ironic because 'change' is the other part of this.”
“What do you mean?” Mon El asked me simply.
“My people have a religious teaching that when put to its essence says that a righteous man who turns to rebellion and sin should not count on his former righteous deeds to save him from judgment. But likewise a sinner who turns from his rebellious ways and does what is right should have no fear; for by no means would his former sinful deeds be counted against him.” I turned and looked at Henshaw. “Unlike most people here, I know what you used to be like. But I also know who you are now, today. And that is who I'm dealing with so that is who matters. It sounds kind of new age and twisted but I don't sense anything in you that even resembles what I sensed from you before. And in case you don't remember, I didn't hate you back then either. Strangely enough that's actually the 'half' reason.”
“Okay...I'm probably going to regret this but what's the full reason?”
"When you told me what happened in Peru, I could sense you weren't lying, but I could also sense you were absolutely right. It wasn't just the truth as you knew it, it was reality...Hank if Jeremiah thinks you're worth DYING for I'm pretty sure you're worth forgiving!”
(the rest of this is deliberately out of order)

“Why are you so intent on finding someone who for all you know will kill you for seeking him out?” Mon-El of Daxam asked me bluntly. I had to give him credit fort waiting as long as he did.
“Things have not been adding up for so long; maybe now they finally will.” He looked at me as if to say 'you're being too cryptic for your own good. “I've always thought Jeremiah broke me out of the DEO and 4 years later he came looking for me, to tell em of Jeremiah's death. If there were four years between Jeremiah breaking me out and Henshaw finding me again...why don't I have four years of memories during that time?”
“That is...a very good question.” Mon'el said reluctantly.
“I take it you see why we both, he and I REALLY want answers.”

“Why did I say that?” I asked no one in particular as I paced the floor of my compartments. “What the hell was I talking about and why was I SO sure of it?”
Hank Henshaw walked into my compartments with Mon'el close behind. “Okay can we back up and expound on this a little bit?”
“White Martians are shape-shifters and telepathic. Both kinds of Martians are, that's how they evolved.” I slowed myself down and looked the director in the eyes. “Martians are a single species, two races one species and they stick out like a sore thumb for empaths; unmistakable.”
“Is that what you meant by 'Phobos and Deimos'?” Mon'el asked me.
“They were two brothers, who's rivalry was responsible for the split in their race. I remember the time I met a white Martian. It is not something I would easily forget. He puppet-on-a-stringed me to beat up an herbivoric kid. I don't mean a vegetarian human I mean an animal with four legs, no canines with smooth horns and white fur. And for an empath that's a lot worse than it sounds. I felt every blow I gave that creature. He snapped me out of it just as I snapped its neck. I told that thing in their that I've met examples of both races. I've met a Green Martian as well as a White. I don't remember meeting any Martians except that thing I just described. What I'm wondering...and very nearly freaking out about is... How can I know I met someone and not remember meeting them?!”
Henshaw looked uncomfortable. “Forgive the obvious but, why is it so hard to believe you've met a Green Martian on your travels? It's as likely as meeting a White, isn't it?”
“It isn't. Whites are blatantly aggressive, egotistical, self-superior assholes who as far as I'm told exterminated the Greens over 300 years ago. But I can't help thinking it's possible. I could have met one right? I mean...I know you have.”
Hank looked like I'd knocked him to the floor with this realization. “J'onn J'onzz was a green skinned alien. And if he was a martian like I'd thought...it would answer a Hell of a lot of questions.”
“You mean HE will.” I said emphatically. “Hank if we're right about this, I was there that night. I can think of no other time meeting an alien would have warranted that alien wiping my memory. You certainly weren't in the habit of keeping me in the dark about the people we met. No matter how a mission went, you wouldn't ret-con me to make me forget it. Hank, will you let me go find him, J'onn J'onzz I mean...so I can find some answers. I think we both know you can't be part of the mission. He'd flip to the ninth dimension if he saw you.”
“I'm not too keen on letting you go alone. Even if this man should be on our side. I mean even if we don't have a problem with him...He might not see it that way.
“Then let me go.” Mon'el of Daxam said stoically. “I look human and I can obviously handle myself if I need to. It should make him, whoever he is pause long enough to talk to him. Hank I can protect her, and I want to be there for he. Please, let me go with...you.”
“Nice use of non-third-person. I agree. He would have spared me last time because he could tell I wasn't native Earthen...Which means I wasn't a star in the ashes exception for your race. If I have someone similarly non-terrestrial with me...it might actually help.”
“Have you any idea where to look?” Hank said in a voice that made it clear he would rather put me in quarantine until I sobered up...but knew better than talk me out of finding answers.
“I've been getting an image in my mind, on an almost subconscious level the last few days. It's a map of Guatemala. Well, more like a picture of the country. Nothing but the word Guatemala embossed on it and what I can only assume is a tiny little won somewhere on it's Southern edge: Arias.”
'Alright, you two have a go on this mission. But Mon'el I already lost one good agent to this alien. Make sure I don't lose another.”
“If that was your way of charging me with her safety, I think it's kind of implied.”

“Why does this mission mean so much to you? Why is Hank SO troubled by where you're going?”
“Hank has encountered this particular alien before. He hasn't been able to make sense of that night. Apparently, I was there to see it...and never knew I'd met the Man. J'onn J'onzz is called 'the Martian Manhunter. Hank has as many unresolved feelings about it as I have questions. It was the night Jeremiah Danvers stood up like a mouse to a lion...and died saving his life.”
“That, is an extra-dose of a good reason.” Mon-el said reluctantly.

“She's not a Daxamite.” I told Mon'el Sternly.
“And how would you know.” He replied just as shortly.
“Because I just gave a kryptonian slur against your people and she responded as if it was her national anthem. She knows your language, but not how you feel about each-other.”
“...Good reason.” Mon'el said, relenting.
“You are a telepath then?” The woman said with steel in her words.
“An Em-path, yes. Thoughts aren't picked up on; emotions are. Your people have shall I say a unique frequency as far as that goes...Martian.” The illusion of a humanoid female melted away to reveal a muscular, bipedal alien with off-white skin and sharp eyes sunk deep in the head. between narrow pointed eyebrows and high, rigid cheekbones. Aggression and intrigue showed equally in the alien's face.
“You are far more clever than I gave you credit for.” It said coolly.
“Assuming for the moment you mean that personally rather than collectively. I have to ask, I mean I am not required to but I feel compelled to ask if the whole 'Phobos and Deimos thing is accurate...Or even a real thing.”
“And how, pray tell did one such as you come to learn the distinction?”
“Earth humans are not specifically empathic, though some posses a natural tendency toward such sensitivities and perceptions. And they've been living alone in their corner of the galaxy for most of their sentient existence.” I smiled broadly at the creature's puzzled stare. “I'm Xavallen, from Atridia. It wouldn't surprise me if you don't know it; my home planet is 50 miles past nowhere. But it isn't just my non-terrestrial origins that show me this, or the fact that I can pick up on your aggression as if you're deliberately projecting it toward me. I've encountered your kinds before. The taste you guys leave in my 'mouth' is not something I would easily forget.”
“You've encountered us more than once and yet live and breathe? I might reevaluate your race. And yes, I have heard o your kind.” He straightened his back and recited as if in school. “ ' If it is possible, in as much as depends on you, live peaceably with all men'...Pathetic.”
“Is there something wrong with not wanting the whole world to be blind and toothless?” I shot back at it. And you're wrong on at least one thing. I've only encountered someone like you once. Greens are...well you don't need me to tell you they're a different story. But Greens and Whites have one thing in common from an outsider's perspective...outsider empaths anyway: There is nothing even remotely like you within 500 light years of this place.”
“What exactly are green and white martians?” Mon'el inquired.
“When I first knew Hank, he reminded me a lot of a White. What Hank's become, the sort of person he's grown into...would feel to me closer to a Green Martian or Xerilians. He would be their favorite new chew toy if they could get their hands on him.” I looked around as if I couldn't see who was in the room with me. I can tell that from the look on Mon'el's face when I withdrew from the room without asking permission or even taking my leave. When they caught up with me I was still out of sorts...and in no sense of the phrase composed.

Concerning the chosen title. There is a reason for it beyond simply melding Hank Henshaw with Jeremiah Danvers. Barry's dad on earth-1 is Henry Allen. As I'm currently planning it, on this Earth, Doctor Henry Allen runs STAR labs. But the titular character is not someone you've seen yet. I must remember that Hen-shaw is where they get the man's middle name: Shawn.

Sarah's Swan Song

 This is the final story of the semi-autobiographical character 'Sasha Jordan Scott'. Who most of the time is simply known as 'Sarah. Arrow's Star City is a place she visited once or twice and found a surrogate home...unitl she finally decided to go home to her rather isolated, perfectly normal life.

“It's been a long time.” Quentin Lance told me in a voice from which I could take no meaning.

“Do you accept I was honest in my explanation of leaving?” I told him curtly.

“Which was what exactly?”

“I wouldn't be believed if I spoke directly to either of you and I didn't really expect to be able to return. Or more accurately I wouldn't be able to finish...stick around to explain whatever warning or advice I would have given...so I didn't give any.”

“Yeah, that part I accept.” He told me gruffly. “It's the rest of it I'm having trouble with.”

“What that Oliver actually thought he was helping and didn't want you getting any more buried in things than you already were? That it was your choice to believe the Arrow when you were facing down Slade and Waller together and it was the right choice?”

“That vigilante..” The police captain began.

“That MAN has a deeper and darker past that anyone except his team have ever given him credit for. A lot of what this city has dealt with and overcome since his return from Lian-Yu, came from what happened there in one sense of the word or another. As such he thinks it's his responsibility to fix ev-ery-thing going wrong in this city. Speaking of the Arrow though, how did you find this place at all?”

“I don't understand.” Quentin replied, seeming sincere enough.

“I gave both of you directions to get here but they were meant to require the sharing of information to actually successfully guide either of you here. I thought it was the equal to telling one person 'go 10 blocks north and six blocks west' and giving the other person the starting coordinates.”

“It wasn't that hard to work out once I pieced together the only places you and I have ever met up.”

“You were about to ask me why Queen ran away if he cared so much for this city?”

“Yeah, that was pretty high on the list.”

“It's because his method for finally taking Rashe out didn't sit well with the rest of his team. That kid has some serious trust issues, I mean more serious than what I called you out on. Your original reason for not liking the Arrow, that he takes matters into his own hands, came to full flower that day. What led to the dam and the final battle was his lack of trust and lack of responsibility. And it cost him his team. But you hated him already because of gigantically bad timing. From my own personal life I don't like any history being thrown out because of one single event...past or present tense. Reconsidering what you've experienced over time in light of new evidence is usually beneficial, no matter who you are. INGORING everything you've experienced over time in light of what you've 'discovered'...is just weird.”

“I have to admit you have a point.” Quentin Lance told me in a steady voice. “Is he coming back?”

“He has no way of knowing how bad things are here. Even if he did, I don't know if the rest of his team can put their own grudges and burning coals aside long enough to work on something more pressing. His perception of not being needed isn't the issue. He no longer feels wanted. If they can't acknowledge that they need him in spite of that crap...they'll never have a chance to repair that damage.” Quentin looked at me as though trying to figure out the source of my opinion. “Yeah, I take it yours is a similar issue. But I really am referring exclusively to the rest of his team this time.”

“Changing the subject completely...I never asked you what you live on while you're here.” I couldn't figure out what he was getting at and I promptly told him so. “I've never seen you eat at any restaurant, you never invite me to your apartment. How do you live and where?”

“I'm a transient. I don't have a steady job, never really needed one, so I just travel around. I show up when and where I can, which usually is the same as when and where I can help. People would get sick of me too quickly If I stayed around and committed to just one cause or mission. What makes my adventures and thus my life unique is I pay attention to both sides of any equation, both cells of any conflict.” I could tell he was having trouble wrapping his head around that, so I changed the direction of my soliloquy. “I left when I did so I could repair the damage in my own head. I've had mental issues for a hell of a long time but my emotional numbness mixed with over-sensitivity had more to do with how I was 'trained'...people trying to bring me up as a logical adult who could see and judge things clearly...assuming what they were trying to teach me to be like was better than the thought process and perspectives I already had. I eventually figured out they were acting under the assumption that my oddities were exclusively the result of a crewed up brain...and therefore making me normal was the same thing as healing my mind.”

“Okay for once I'm not being sarcastic...how so?”

“I tend to choose my words way too carefully for most adults comfort. I mean I've done that since I was in middle school. I'd rather not get into that because it's not something that's very briefly understood. In your case it's a little more directly explainable. To avoid getting distracted or derailed by your responses to my words, I write up general points of what I'm actually trying to say.” He glared at me. “Is it really that surprising? I mean I don't write a script or anything. It's more like a 'this is what I'm here to get across, this is what might be a problem, this is how far not to go.' But something else is a little closer to the point here. As far as I could see, you and the Arrow were on the same side since he got back. I mean since he decided not to drop bodies as a solution to the crime problem. Which is one reason I never took either of your sides in your personal conflict with each-other. Not only was it almost superficial and a little beyond my understanding...I am famous for reading both interpretations of a conflict or argument and not 'drinking in' only one version or perception of a problem. And to hopefully permanently clear the air... When we met last time in the office, when Laurel was handing you a paper that basically said 'choose a suspect'? If I hadn't overheard that conversation and seen a chance there to cut straight to the point without added words or emotional language, the conversation would have gone quite differently.”

“Can you give me an example of what you would have said instead?”

“Actually yes. The conversation would have ended with this insistence: How do you justify so holding on to old prejudice and bitterness? You got thrown in jail at least one for trusting the Arrow's information. And he was right. You were promoted to Captain at all because you worked with that vigilante to save the city from Slade and from Waller. And now, because the Arrow is Oliver, the Arrow himself must be a prick? That's a level of selective memory that...that would baffle almost...”

“What is it?” Quentin Lance asked me, sincerely puzzled.

“I would have interrupted myself at that point; reeling myself in because such impassioned speech is not constructive unless it's inspirational. Before you ask, I don't have such clear memories of conversations that never would have happened. I don't plan these encounters out that well. But I've gone over it a bunch of times in my mind since that day. It's hard to forget or fix such a deep rut in mental pathways.”

“I would think...” Lance began. I glared. It wasn't hard to guess he was about to excuse his twisted perceptions of Oliver-Arrow, as they had been last time, by explaining how long he had been comfortable distrusting the vigilante. I knew well enough that was his next course of action. Then a light seemed to dawn in his face. “You were upset that I unlearned my realizations and open-mindedness, that I ignored the growth and acceptance I'd taught myself, because the revelation came at what was insanely bad timing.”

“Well, there's that.” I told him easily. “I think the rest of it is slightly more personal though. I never said a permanent goodbye to you or Oliver, because I hoped I could come back. The thing is, I didn't expect to come back. Contrary to what either of you believe, it was never the conflict between you that pushed me off. I've been willing myself to live beyond my time until the time came that I was willing to die.”

“Okay, I hope you can tell me more about that.” Quentin stated with sincerity in his voice and face.

“I'm sick.” I told him plainly. “Not like having a physical disease or anything. But my mind is a lot older than my body, because of all these travels and interventions I'm known for. My mentor and teacher stated I could have either one year of life worth living; out in the world and in adventures like this, or five years of life stuck at home. It wasn't something he would enforce or make sure of. He just knew a lot better than me what toll these adventures take on an already fractured mind. I would be pretty safe and calm at home if I stayed there, what some would call 'at peace'. But to my perceptions if I'd chosen that life, I might as well have been dead. I belong in the world, making a difference. More to the point, I found friends and a support network while jumping around like this...I never had that back home. I'd as soon join a shelter or a soup kitchen as a lay person rather than becoming a monk or a nun...to use the catholic metaphor. So I chose to keep traveling. The most poetic and succinct way to put my motivation is this: a horrible death at the end of a good life is preferable to a quiet death and the end of an empty one. If you do the math, you see why I feel now that I'm living on borrowed time.”

“If you were being literal with the chronology I guess so but..”

“..I made that decision before you and I ever even met.” I interrupted him.

“...OH.” he breathed.

Sasha and her Last Adventure; take one

“It's been a long time.” Quentin Lance told me in a voice from which I could take no meaning.

“Do you accept I was honest in my explanation of leaving?” I told him curtly.

“Which was what exactly?”

“I wouldn't be believed if I spoke directly to either of you and I didn't really expect to be able to return. Or more accurately I wouldn't be able to finish...stick around to explain whatever warning or advice I would have given...so I didn't give any.”

“Yeah, that part I accept.” He told me gruffly. “It's the rest of it I'm having trouble with.”

“What that Oliver actually thought he was helping and didn't want you getting any more buried in things than you already were? That it was your choice to believe the Arrow when you were facing down Slade and Waller together and it was the right choice?”

“That vigilante..” The police captain began.

“That MAN has a deeper and darker past that anyone except his team have ever given him credit for. A lot of what this city has dealt with and overcome since his return from Lian-Yu, came from what happened there in one sense of the word or another. As such he thinks it's his responsibility to fix everything wrong in this city. Speaking of the Arrow though, how did you find this place at all?”

“I don't understand.” Quentin replied, seeming sincere enough.

“I gave both of you directions to get here but they were meant to require the sharing of information to actually successfully guide either of you here. I thought it was the equal to telling one person 'go 10 blocks north and six blocks west' and giving the other person the starting coordinates.”

“It wasn't hard to work out once I pieced together the only places you and I have ever met up.”

“You were about to ask me why Queen ran away if he cared so much for this city?”

“Yeah, that was pretty high on the list.”

“It's because his method for finally taking Rashe out didn't sit well with the rest of his team. That kid has some serious trust issues, I mean more serious than what I called you out on. Your original reason for not liking the Arrow, that he takes matters into his own hands, came to full flower that day. What led to the dam and the final battle was his lack of trust and lack of responsibility. And it cost him his team. But you hated him already because of gigantically bad timing. From my own personal life I don't like any history being thrown out because of one single event...past or present tense. Reconsidering what you've experienced over time in light of new evidence is usually beneficial, no matter who you are. INGORING everything you've experienced over time in light of what you've 'discovered'...is just weird.”

“I have to admit you have a point.” Quentin Lance told me in a steady voice. “Is he coming back?”

“He has no way of knowing how bad things are here. Even if he did, I don't know if the rest of his team can put their own grudges and burning coals aside long enough to work on something more pressing. His perception of not being needed isn't the issue. He no longer feels wanted. If they can't acknowledge that they need him in spite of that crap...they'll never have a chance to repair that damage.” Quentin looked at me as though trying to figure out the source of my opinion. “Yeah, I take it yours is a similar issue. But I really am referring exclusively to the rest of his team this time.”

“Changing the subject completely...I never asked you what you live on while you're here.” I couldn't figure out what he was getting at and I promptly told him so. “I've never seen you eat at any restaurant, you never invite me to your apartment. How do you live and where?”

“I'm a transient. I don't have a steady job, never really needed one, so I just travel around. I show up when and where I can, which usually is the same as when and where I can help. People would get sick of me too quickly If I stayed around and committed to just one cause or mission. What makes my adventures and thus my life unique is I pay attention to both sides of any equation, both cells of any conflict.” I could tell he was having trouble wrapping his head around that, so I changed the direction of my soliloquy. “I left when I did so I could repair the damage in my own head. I've had mental issues for a hell of a long time but my emotional numbness mixed with over-sensitivity had more to do with how I was 'trained'...people trying to bring me up as a logical adult who could see and judge things clearly...assuming what they were trying to teach me to be like was better than the thought process and perspectives I already had. I eventually figured out they were acting under the assumption that my oddities were exclusively the result of a crewed up brain...and therefore making me normal was the same thing as healing my mind.”

“Okay for once I'm not being sarcastic...how so?”

“I tend to choose my words way too carefully for most adults comfort. I mean I've done that since I was in middle school. I'd rather not get into that because it's not something that's very briefly understood. In your case it's a little more directly explainable. To avoid getting distracted or derailed by your responses to my words, I write up general points of what I'm actually trying to say.” He glared at me. “Is it really that surprising? I mean I don't write a script or anything. It's more like a 'this is what I'm here to get across, this is what might be a problem, this is how far not to go.' But something else is a little closer to the point here. As far as I could see, you and the Arrow were on the same side since he got back. I mean since he decided not to drop bodies as a solution to the crime problem. Which is one reason I never took either of your sides in your personal conflict with each-other. Not only was it superficial and beyond my understanding; I am famous for reading both interpretations of a conflict or argument and not 'drinking in' only one version or perception of a problem. And to hopefully permanently clear the air... When we met last time in the office, when Laurel was handing you a paper that basically said 'choose a suspect'? If I hadn't overheard that conversation and seen a chance there to cut straight to the point, the conversation would have gone quite differently.”

“Can you give me an example of what you would have said instead?”

“Actually yes. The conversation would have ended with this insistence: How do you justify so holding on to old prejudice and bitterness? You got thrown in jail at least one for trusting the Arrow's information. And he was right. You were promoted to Captain at all because you worked with that vigilante to save the city from Slade and from Waller. And now, because the Arrow is Oliver, the Arrow himself must be a prick? That's a level of selective memory that...that would baffle almost...”

“What is it?” Quentin Lance asked me, sincerely puzzled.

“I would have interrupted myself at that point; reeling myself in because such impassioned speech is not constructive unless it's inspirational. Before you ask, I don't have such clear memories of conversations that never would have happened. I don't plan these encounters out that well. But I've gone over it a bunch of times in my mind since that day. It's hard to forget or fix such a deep rut in mental pathways.”

“I would think...” Lance began. I glared. It wasn't hard to guess he was about to excuse his twisted perceptions of Oliver-Arrow, as they had been last time, by explaining how long he had been comfortable distrusting the vigilante. I knew well enough that was his next course of action. Then a light seemed to dawn in his face. “You were upset that I unlearned my realizations and open-mindedness, that I ignored the growth and acceptance I'd taught myself, because the revelation came at what was insanely bad timing.”

“Well, there's that.” I told him easily. “I think the rest of it is slightly more personal though. I never said a permanent goodbye to you or Oliver, because I hoped I could come back. The thing is, I didn't expect to come back. Contrary to what either of you believe, it was never the conflict between you that pushed me off. I've been willing myself to live beyond my time until the time came that I was willing to die.”

“I hope you can tell me more about that.” Quentin stated with sincerity in his voice and face.

“I'm sick.” I told him plainly. “Not like having a physical disease or anything. But my mind is a lot older than my body, because of all these travels and interventions I'm known for. My mentor and teacher stated I could have either one year of life worth living; out in the world and in adventures like this, or five years of life stuck at home. I couldn't have known what toll these adventures take on an already fractured mind. I would be pretty safe and calm at home if I stayed there, what some would call 'at peace'. But to my perceptions if I'd chosen that life, I might as well have been dead. I belong in the world, making a difference. More to the point, I found friends and a support network while jumping around like this...I never had that back home. I'd as soon join a shelter or a soup kitchen as a lay person rather than becoming a monk or a nun...to use the catholic metaphor. So I chose to keep traveling. A horrible death at the end of a good life is preferable to a quiet death and the end of an empty one. If you do the math, you'll see why I now feel I'm living on borrowed time.”

“If you were being literal with the chronology I guess so but..”

“..I made that decision before you and I ever even met.” I interrupted him.

“...OH.” he breathed.

Sasha and her Last adventure take two

“I can't see you but I know you're there.” I told Quentin when he came through the doorway.

“Well your acuity sensors haven't failed you let.” The police Captain told me firmly.

“Ignoring that word choice completely, I made a promise and I gave you a compass. I knew you'd put two and two together eventually.”

“...However...?”

“Either you've been preoccupied and now have room to breathe or you think you've solved everything and are here to confront me on what you consider to be the truth.”

“I take it this is why you wanted to get out of dodge?” Lance told me flatly.

“I got out of dodge for exactly this reason: My mental state was degrading and pretty soon I wouldn't be of any use to anyone. Even letting myself say exactly what I thought, it wouldn't have helped anyone.”

“What the bloody hell do you mean by that?”

“The dark Archer was a mystery solved by the arrow on his own. Slade Wilson was a monster and a shadow that belonged every bit as much to Oliver as to the Arrow. But thanks to my own twisted sense of honor, including knowing it wasn't my fight, I couldn't say anything to anyone. Except the supposedly vague hints I gave both you and Queen that night, right before things blew up in everybody's face.”

“I'm afraid you'll have to be a little more specific.” The cop prompted me.

“It doesn't matter anymore. At least not for your intent tonight I have a feeling. The point I'm making is that with both of those monsters out of the way, I had the freedom to speak. But either I wouldn't have been believed or I would have been considered to have crossed a line. I didn't want either outcome.”

“No, I got that part.” Captain Quentin Lance told me firmly. “I mean about your 'condition'.”

The sarcasm he put on that last word irked me. But I tried not to let it show too much as I responded. “I do have mental problems. I have done since I was thirteen years old. Which is significantly earlier than we've known each other. But that ain't the problem right now and neither is Oliver...or is he?”

“You've known all along, haven't you?” The former Detective questioned.

“Well, longer than most others yeah. But I'm not stupid enough to assume I know him best...or know what is best. I'll leave that to him.”

“What the heck?”

“He does almost everything he does because he foolishly or at least mistakenly thinks it's actually the best thing for the most number of people...or something along those lines.”

“I hope you're not trying to justify that bastard's actions to me.” The idiot answered gruffly.

“That's almost amusing coming from you!” I shot back. He looked at me as though dumbfounded.

“Okaaaay. What am I missing here?” He finally muttered.

“How do you justify so holding on to old prejudice and bitterness? You got thrown in jail at least once for trusting the Arrow's information. And he was right. You were promoted to Captain at all because you worked with that vigilante to save the city from Slade and from Waller. And now, because the Arrow is Oliver, the Arrow himself must be a prick? That's a level of selective memory...that would baffle almost...”

“What is it?” Lance asked me, apparently sincerely concerned.

“Where are we?”

You're not going to get away that easily. I need to know..”

“Where. Are. We?” I all but demanded of him.

“You gave me a compass point and I followed – Bullshit.” I interrupted him.

He stared at me a moment longer and I explained, speaking as slowly as I would talking to a child. “I gave you a set of directions and the Arrow a set of coordinates. But the directions I gave you when we were out in the cold that night didn't start there. They were to be followed starting from the Arrow's set of coordinates. Unless he's given you the starting point, you shouldn't be here right now. And given your current animosity towards Queen that seems unlikely!”

“That's true but, what could be guiding me what you've already told me?”

“Queen told you the coordinates back when you still trusted him and you are only just now digging it up. Hehe. Apparently even my brain is starting to fry...not just my MIND.”

A NEW Horizon (DEO)

A New Horizon

Superman landed without a sound on the front yard of a very familiar house. He was dressed in his standard uniform, so he had come to think of his costume. Being raised as Clark Kent, he preferred that name to his birth name of Kal-El, preferred normal clothes to his kryptonian suits. But the speed and silence of flying required the non-terrestrial look of his assumed identity. So he came to see his old friend dressed in full superman regalia. Before he'd even gotten to the front door, Jeremiah and his wife Eliza walked out of the house to greet him.

“It's been way too long my friend.” Jeremiah said with a warmth familiar to both of them.

“Jeremiah, can I talk with you a minute?”

“Kal-el of Krypton when have I ever, not wanted to talk with you?”

“Well to be perfectly frank this conversation will end with me asking you to come back to the DEO.” In an instant Jeremiah's warmth hardened.“And what exactly makes you think I'll go with you? I left that place for a reason and they think I'm dead. Which, in case you didn't realize it is the only reason I can stay gone.” It was a sign of the tremendous respect and friendship the two shared that Jeremiah's voice remained calm and firm while expressing his disdain.

“ 'They think you're dead'. Superman repeated, his tone ringing with a thoughtfulness that surprised his friend. “An ironically appropriate choice of words.”

“Okay, you have my attention.”

“I'm not here for the DEO, or even because of them. As an entity I don't understand them. I'm here because the new director of the DEO and one of their former alien prisoners seriously need to hear from you. They are the only people I wasn't raised with that know who I am and they know you. I'm finding myself feeling a little stupid about her. I have been listening to her talk about her hero, a former agent of the DEO for almost six months and I never figured out it was you she was talking about. It wasn't until Mon-el of Daxam showed up that I saw the depth of her feelings about the place. And two weeks later I overheard her reminisce about the good-bad old days.” Kal-el took Jeremiah by the arm in a gentlemanly embrace, holding him enthralled to his next words. Jeremiah sensed the need behind his action and did not resist. “I'm here because J'onn J'onzz and Nikita think you're dead.”

“Eliza, take care of the girls...I have an old friend to visit.”

“You can get me to track them, you cannot get me to hurt them.” Nikita stated firmly, planting her feet solidly in place. “Director, I couldn't tell you if my people are pacifists but I AM one. In case you've forgotten there is no-thing you can do to get me not to be true to myself.”

“Have you any idea what we're facing here, what we're here for?”

“We are here to make contact and meet for the first time an alien you see as a threat.” Jeremiah Danvers said shortly. “Her role here is to find the man and talk to him, and help us know how to deal with him. Fighting him is not in her job description.”

“True enough, but this creature is the farthest thing from being a man you can imagine. He's a martian, a monster from your worst nightmares.”

'heard that one before'. Jeremiah thought to himself, though he said nothing of the kind.

“I never thought I'd say this,” Nikita began. “but...you have a point. Even so, if I never knowingly hurt YOU Hank, what makes you think I'll sit by while you hurt a complete stranger?”

“You don't have to watch. But you do have to find him for me. That is you're role here after all.”

“I'm doing it!” Nikita cried out with a passion she did not usually display. “I'm here to do a job, to help you succeed. Efficiency is better than its opposite and you need someone like me when you meet those you refer to as 'creeps'. The fact that I haven't moved from this spot should tell you something.”

Jeremiah smiled as he watched realization spread over the director's face. The quarry they'd been hunting came out of the brush and tackled the man named Hank Henshaw. The director lay stunned on the ground. The alien was only slightly taller than Jeremiah himself with lime-green skin and black body armor.

Jeremiah watched the stranger, keeping his hands visible and still. The alien walked up to Jeremiah, silently and steadily. “Please wait.” Nikita whispered urgently. “I know you have no reason to trust me, but please hear me out. My name is Nikita, my people are low-level empaths; a skill director Henshaw used to his advantage. I tracked you here. I didn't have a choice and I will do what I can to keep you safe, and undo whatever damage I have caused. Jeremiah is no threat to you and, despite the uniform, is no more a willing part of this than I am. Tie his hands if it makes sense, if you need to be certain he cannot fight you but Please don't hurt him.”

“Is this true?” The alien spoke, in a gravelly voice, his eyes focused on the man in front of him.

Jeremiah's voice was soft but steady. “I work for an agency called the DEO. Our job is to protect Earth from alien threats. Hank Henshaw was my immediate superior...and a blind fool. I swear I would not hurt a man, woman or child who was no threat, who wasn't trying to hurt others. And the DEO honestly believed you were a threat.”

“Get out of here.” The alien said, to Nikita. “I want nothing from you. You have no reason to listen to them anymore. So, don't.”

“If you take Jeremiah with you,I'm coming too.” Nikita said firmly. “He and I have each-other's backs. Henshaw brought the two of us with him because he saw how unswervingly, almost recklessly we defend each-other. To be clear, I was not assigned to protect him, I do so freely. I made my choice almost seven months ago now: I will not leave his side.”

“Nikita I...” Jeremiah began shakily.

“You have great regard for your...caretakers, here.”

“I have great regard for all sentient life and so does he.” Nikita slowed her speech down and looked sidelong at her friend. “My being an empath is what makes me a good field asset; not that I now general patterns of individual races but that I can sense their intent and what comes naturally, instinctively to them. Whatever he,” she gestured to the alien “thinks of us is, well, not something I could find out if I wanted to. But regardless, he is closer to being a protector than an assassin. We are safe with him.”

“You sound as if this surprises you?” The man said coolly.

“Henshaw said you were a martian. The only martian I ever met, the only kind I ever heard of did not look or act very much like you...AT ALL.”

“He must have been a white.” The alien said, with only the slightest hint of sorrow in his voice.

“And your people—We should get out of here.” Jeremiah looked up sharply. “There was a second Thera...support team. More for protecting us than anything to do with our...Target. We should find some deeper cover. After this creep, this, I'm actually going to use the word Kreec-ta gives up the chase, we can each leave all of this behind.”

“Do I want to know what that means?” Jeremiah inquired.

“I basically just called our boss an ignorant, arrogant asshole.”

“You'll get no argument from me.” Jeremiah said flatly. He walked up to the martian and said his peace. “Nikita trusts you. If for no other reason than that, so do I. I'm Jeremiah Danvers, you can consider me a friend.” He extended his right hand. “It's a greeting, and a sign of trust.” He explained simply.

“I am...J'onn J'onzz.” The warrior replied as he accepted the handshake.

Twenty minutes later Nikita woke up in a strange house with a stranger host. Jeremiah Danvers was no where to be found. And Hank Henshaw, as she knew him, was on his way to retrieve her.

Around 3 pm in the afternoon Jeremiah Danvers rested comfortably in the arms of Superman. Clark was holding him loosely but firmly as they moved through the air toward DEO headquarters. “Are you alright?”

“I never thought I'd be back here again. I'm not sure what to expect.”

“There's nothing I could say that could sufficiently prepare you for this place, so I won't even try.” Kal replied. “If I'm going to help at all I should say that J'onn will probably be the first person you see and you will be welcomed here by him; he's director now.”

“Okay an alien in charge of the DEO when did that happen. More accurately: how?”

“Martians are shape-shifters...he looks human now.”

“That would explain it.”

They touched down on the balcony on the next to highest floor. They clearly were not expected. A young agent, the equivalent in experience to a Air Force lieutenant walked up with his hand on his gun. A dark haired, pale-faced young man standing beside him simply smiled and waved with his left hand. “Superman, good to see you again. Who's your friend?”

“Winn, find director J'onzz have him meet us in the conference room.”

“That won't be necessary.” Came the smooth calm voice that resonated from a man known to most as Director J'onn J'onzz. “I think I...” His gaze met that of Jeremiah Danvers. J'onn did not say anything more for several seconds; neither did anyone else.

“J'onn, is that you?” Jeremiah finally breathed.

“I think we need to go up to the conference room. We have A-Lot to talk about.”

Kal-el, J'onn J'onzz Nikita and Jeremiah Danvers all gathered in the situation room overlooking the main operations center of the building. For a moment no one said anything.

“Someone should say something before even Kal ages.” Nikita prompted.

“Jeremiah...I never thought I'd see you again...I thought you were dead.”

“Apparently you're a little too good at wearing his skin. I let people think I died...so Hank Henshaw wouldn't come after me. I have an apology to make you, Nikita...not sure how to start.”

“For believing I was dead? We're both guilty on that one.”

“For assuming you were better off believing I was dead. For assuming you were out there alone and wandering, better off than you would be with me...for never telling anyone you existed.”

“If you didn't know I was here why come back?” Understanding flickered across her face. “Clark overheard the two of us talking and brought you back here to clear things up. You didn't know where I was until today...and you thought Henshaw was still in charge of this place.”

“I have to admit I'm more than a little confused right now.” J'onn said blankly.

“No less than I am about all this.” Superman quipped.

“I experienced the best and worst of humanity for 11 months the first time I was here.” Nikita said automatically, almost mechanically. “Both of them were with me when I met you, J'onn in the mountains that day. I learned all I needed to know about you to trust you as soon as I saw you shake hands. I knew you were the one picking me up from Clark's house, because you weren't being an ignorant arrogant asshole and still recognized Jeremiah's name. I've never met anyone on Earth like Jeremiah before...no one else who was born here. And now that explanations and easily-remedied mistakes are cleared up, can we get to the actual reunion part? I also never thought I'd see you again...I never thought get a chance to talk with you both at the same time...we need to find a patio bar and a place that serves cuba libre's.”

“I'm sorry, what?” Kal-el said blankly.

J'onn J'onzz stepped up. “Kal, Jeremiah, Nikita and I saved each-other from Hank Henshaw. That's actually how any of us met, including you and her. Until now at least some of us thought the others died that night. THIS meeting of old friends deserves some alcohol.”

“You do realize I can't get drunk.”

“You realize I would never try to get myself drunk?”

“And if I become ill, I won't have far to go.”

“You haven't the authority to do this.” Kal-el of Krypton told me curtly, after I unlocked the cell.

“Actually, I do. You don't have the authority to stop me.”

“Pardon?”

“Yeah, even I'm confused.” Mon-el of Daxam said mildly.

“Kal, you are a great ally of the DEO and you are our friend. But you are not a DEO agent, not a part of the organization. The first thing J'onn did for me when I came back was to make me an agent of the DEO. And it actually goes beyond that. When it comes to regulation, I am not expected to comply, J'onn would never do that to me. Winn is his closest compatriot, they understand each-other the best. I am his lefftenant; I have his trust. I actually am allowed to make these decisions. I will not let someone get put in prison until after they have been convicted of a crime or an act of violence. Blame the man who's face J'onn is wearing for that one!” I turned back to the man who still stood in his cell. “I can't let you leave the DEO, but there is no reason on the face of this planet for you to stay here. We're going to my compartments.”

“They know you're an alien?” Mon-el said to me as we walked the corridor.

“I spent 11 months here as an enemy alien. I'm not using an image-inducer or anything, like you I actually look like this. But the people who were in charge before...because I couldn't answer their questions they called me a liar. Because I never told anyone I was an alien they assumed I had a nefarious reason to conceal who and what I am...well with one exception anyway. They have all my files for my question and answer sessions back then. But I see no reason to hide. What Kal thinks of you is because what planet he's from and what planet your from. It has literally NOTHING to do with you not being from Earth. Way back when I lived by the philosophy that if someone trust the real you keep them close...and how can they accept who you really are if you don't tell them? Or more importantly, how can I know who my friends are and who my enemies are if I never speak up, never tell them who I am. The people here are the first people I've met in 35 years who accept me. People who need to know WHO I am and like me AS I am. The what doesn't matter to them. Sorry, I have a tendency to pontificate.”

“Sounds like you haven't had a chance to talk about all this in a while.”

“I live it every day, openly and quietly. It's been a while since I've talked *about my life instead of just living it. Also I'm acting under the assumption that you are fairly newly come to our shores. Any aliens I know have lived here for years.” He looked at me a little lopsidedly. “I'm giving a first impressions of Earth rather than showing you that not all people are alike. I'm better at it.” I typed '4169873' into the keypad of my room and ushered him inside. “And I can see you have a question on the tip of your mental tongue. Ask it.”

“J'onn is your director, you said he was wearing another persons face. Will you explain?”

“Okay you're either nobility or a diplomat and seeing how completely blunt and unrestrained you're being, I'm going with the former. To answer your question, my supervising officer as I refer to him was a man named Hank Henshaw. He took me and another DEO agent to track down a dangerous alien. In his words a 'creature, a monster, the most powerful man in the world, always excepting Kryptonians cause the powers they have on our planet'. Believe me hearing Henshaw call an alien a 'monster' was almost laughably ironic. That alien turned out to be a shape-shifter named J'onn J'onzz. Who upon the death of director Henshaw assumed his identity in order to reform the DEO into what it is today...instead of what it was like when I first got picked up.”

“So when you see something that reminds you of what this place used to be...”

“I actually have the authority to stop it. I'm sensitive when I see it happening again, but I also see it quicker. J'onn knows what 'we' tend to be like and what the DEO will fall into if we don't keep ourselves circumspect...from living out in the world so long...He's 309 years old. Now are you more a red wine person or a flavored vodka person...those are the alcohol's keep around.”

“Flavored vodka...I think.” Mon-el said with a nervous chuckle.

“Vodka's a mild spirit with no flavor of its own most of the time. Mixed with soda or juice it makes a good mixed drink. Wine is milder, sweeter and more like an aperitif...softer on the stomach and the liver.”

“Flavored vodka then.”

“Good choice.”

After a minute or two Nikita handed Mon-el a vodka-lime-soda' and asked him to take a seat.

“Do you mind if I ask, what planet are you from?”

“I'm Xavallen. My home planet is 50 miles past nowhere. While I lived in one of our larger cities I never saw much of the place. Now in Atridian culture, that's the name of a continent and my homeland, we are acknowledged as intelligent, mature and thoughtful people around the age of 16. But we are not accepted as self-determinate, individuals, independent of our families for another 8 years. Family is everything to our people, and until legal adulthood upon our 24^th birthday party we are bound TO our parents' wishes and worldviews to the extent that if my mom is okay with me doing something completely nuts, no one questions my decision. If she objects to or won't allow something, I would ne-ver consider it. Anything from getting drunk one night to joining a peaceful protest. I was 22 years old when I 'wanted to see what else was out there'. What that really means is...”

“You ran away from home.”Winn Schott said from the doorway. “I'm sorry, I wanted to see if you were alright. And to meet our newest alien guest.” He reached out to shake Mon-el's hand. “Hi, my name is Winn Schott; it's a pleasure to meet you.”

“My name is Mon-el.” the stranger said awkwardly. “I'm sorry after meeting your resident superhero, I didn't expect a warm welcome.”

“Did...Superman doesn't like him?” Winn stammered.

Nikita chuckled. “Krypton and Daxam? Think Sparta and Athens in ancient times. Or maybe more accurately, France and England as described in the opening lies of Henry the Fifth?” Mon-el looked confused but said nothing. Nikita looked mildly embarrassed and explained.“ 'Two mighty monarchies whose very shores look pale with envy at each-other's happiness'. The other comparison is of two city-states in Greece whose hatred for each-other lasted generations, but fortunately were not directly neighbors.”

“Yeah, then definitely the Henry the Fifth one.” Mon-el said blandly. “We're a lot alike biologically but their aristocrats and philanthropists while we basically rule over our people by telling them how screwed they would be without us.”

“That is...some next level honesty right there.” Winn observed.

A Freely Given Gift

Superman landed without a sound on the front yard of a very familiar house. He was dressed in his standard uniform, so he had come to think of his costume. Being raised as Clark Kent, he preferred that name to his birth name of Kal-El, preferred normal clothes to his kryptonian suits. But flying required speed and silence. So he came to see his old friend dressed in full superman regalia. Before he'd even gotten to the front door, Jeremiah and his wife Eliza walked out of the house to greet him.

“It's been way, way too long my friend.” Jeremiah said with a warmth familiar to both of them.

“Jeremiah, can I talk with you a minute?”

“Kal-el of Krypton when have I ever, not wanted to talk with you?”

“Well to be perfectly frank this conversation will end with me asking you to come back to the DEO.” In an instant Jeremiah's warmth hardened.“And what exactly makes you think I'll go with you? I left that place for a reason and they think I'm dead. Which, in case you didn't realize it is the only reason I can stay gone.” It was a sign of the tremendous respect and friendship the two shared that Jeremiah's voice remained calm and firm.

“ 'They think you're dead'. Superman repeated, his tone ringing with a thoughtfulness that surprised his friend. “An ironically appropriate choice of words.”

“Okay, you have my attention.”

“I'm not here for the DEO, or even because of them. As an entity I don't understand them. I'm here because the new director of the DEO and one of their former alien prisoners seriously need to hear from you. They are the only people I wasn't raised with that know who I am and they know you. I'm finding myself feeling a little stupid about her. I have been listening to her talk about her hero, a former agent of the DEO for almost six months and I never figured out it was you she was talking about. Until Mon-El of Daxam showed up and I saw the depth of her feelings about the place...and overheard her reminisce about the good-bad old days.” Kal-el took Jeremiah by the arm in an embrace, holding him in place, enthralled to his next words. Jeremiah sensed the urgency, the need behind his action and did not resist. “I'm here because J'onn J'onzz and Nikita think you're dead.”

“Eliza, take care of the girls...I have an old friend to visit.”

“You can get me to track them, you cannot get me to hurt them.” Nikita stated firmly, planting her feet solidly in place. “Director, I couldn't tell you if my people are pacifists but I AM one. In case you've forgotten there is no-thing you can do to get me to not be true to myself.”

“Have you any idea what we're facing here, what we're here for.”

“We are here to make contact and meet for the first time an alien you see as a threat.” Jeremiah Danvers said shortly. “Her role here is to find the man and talk to him, and help us know how to deal with him. Fighting him is not in her job description.”

“True enough, but this creature is the farthest thing from being a man you can imagine. He's a martian, a monster from your worst nightmare.”

'I've heard that one before'. Jeremiah thought to himself,though he said nothing of the kind.

“Actually, I never thought I'd say this, but...you might have a point. Even so, if I never knowingly hurt YOU Hank, what makes you think I'll sit by while you hurt a complete stranger?”

“you don't have to watch. But you do have to find him that is you're role here after all.”

“And I'm doing it!” Nikita cried out with a passion she did not usually display. “I am here to do a job and to help you guys succeed. Efficiency is better than its opposite and you need someone like me when you meet the people you refer to as 'creeps'. The fact that I haven't moved from this spot in tracking an alien fugitive should tell you something.”

Jeremiah smiled slightly as he watched realization spread over his director's face. A moment later the quarry they had been hunting came out of the brush and tackled the man named Hank Henshaw. The director lay stunned on the ground. The alien was only slightly taller than Jeremiah himself with lime-green skin and black body armor. Jeremiah watched the stranger carefully, keeping his hands visible and still.

The alien walked up to Jeremiah, silently and steadily. “Please wait.” Nikita whispered urgently. “I know you have no reason to trust me, but I can sense you are a warrior, not a solider. The code of honor you live by is exactly that; something you live by. You understand, I think, being a solider under orders of a superior. I am... My name is Nikita, my people are low-level empaths, that is how I tracked you here. I am in Henshaw's custody, Jeremiah is under his command. But he is not a threat and no more a willing part of this than I am. Please don't hurt him.”

“Is this true?” The alien spoke, in a gravelly voice, his eyes focused on the man in front of him.

Jeremiah looked steadily into the man's eyes as he answered. “I work for an agency called the DEO. Our job is to protect Earth from alien threats. Hank Henshaw was my immediate superior...and a blind fool. I swear I would not hurt a man, woman or child who was no threat, who wasn't trying to hurt others. And the DEO honestly believed you were a threat.”

“Get out of here.” The alien said, speaking to Nikita. “You have no reason to stay. Be safe, be free.”

“Not without Jeremiah.” The young woman said with a kind of forceful calm. “He and I have each-other's backs. Hank brought the two of us out here with him because he saw that we unswervingly, almost recklessly defend each-other. I was not assigned to protect him, I do so freely. It's important that people out on a mission together have each-others backs, simply for tactical safety and success of the mission. But it's fiercer, stronger, harder to break if we actually care, if it's by choice, rather than requirement. I made my choice 7 months ago: I will not leave his side.”

“Nikita I...”

“I AM a low level empath. And that is em-path not tele-path. I can't read his mind to know what he thinks of us, but we are safe with him, he's a good man...like you. Although I must admit...” She blushed deeply. “You do sort of surprise me.”

At that moment they heard a rustling in the leaves. “there is a second team here, sent more to provide safety and cover for our team than to do anything about you.” Nikita said as thought her mouth moved on its own. “we should Really get out of here.”

“Higher ground?” Jeremiah suggested.

“Deeper cover.” Nikita answered. “But introductions first, yes?”

“Nikita trusts you and so do I.” Placing his left hand over his heart the DEO agent identified himself. “I'm Jeremiah Danvers. You can consider me a friend.”

“...I am...J'onn J'onzz.”

Jeremiah rested comfortably in the arms of superman. Clark was holding him loosely but firmly as they moved through the air toward DEO headquarters. “Are you alright?” Clark asked him.

“I never thought I'd be back here again. I'm not sure what to expect.”

“I wish we could take things slow, and look around but that's not going to happen. There's nothing I could say that could sufficiently prepare you.” Kal replied. “I should tell you though, J'onn will probably be the first person you see, he's director now.”

“Okay an alien in charge of the DEO since when?”

“Martians are shape-shifters...he looks human now.”

“That would explain it.”

They touched down on the balcony on the next to highest floor. And they were clearly not expected. A young agent, the equivalent in experience to a Air Force lieutenant walked up with his hand on his gun. A dark haired, pale-faced young man standing beside him simply smiled and waved with his left hand. “Superman, good to see you again. Who's your friend?”

“Winn, find director J'onzz have him meet us in the conference room.”

“That won't be necessary.” Came the smooth calm voice that resonated from a man known to most as Director J'onn J'onzz. “I think I...” His gaze met that of Jeremiah Danvers. J'onn did not say anything more for several seconds; neither did anyone else.

“J'onn, is that you?” Jeremiah finally breathed.

“I think we need to go up to the conference room. We have A-Lot to talk about.”