M'gann M'orzz

.

Belatedly, Bucky realized that his reaction had probably been—loud. That much was obvious from the way M’gann’s hands flew to her chest and her bright eyes opened wide. It couldn’t be helped. The request had ushered in the sort of shock of emotion that he didn’t generally get. At least, not any kind of positive sense. (He’d had a number of unpleasant shocks in the last couple years alone.)

“Of course I do,” Bucky replied with a crooked smile. He was more surprised she remembered, throwaway shit about a childhood a century-gone. He shook his head, disbelieving, fond. Pleased, that she’d remembered and thought of him. “Considering I’ve never been off this planet, I don’t think I’m in any place to complain about lack of worlds,” Bucky replied. “Maybe next time.” He shifted his footing, a spark of curiosity lighting him up from the inside. “I read up a bit on that watchtower. Seems like a pretty damn fine deal, taking a break from the snow to go on a space-vacation with you there.” 

“It is something,” she agreed. “I haven’t spent any extended period of time up there in more than a decade,” since she’d gotten enough control over her mind to coexist among larger populations of humans without being driven to the brink of madness, “but it’s really something. I think you’ll like it.” M’gann smoothed her hair against the wind. “The Watchtower has effective gravity, but we can still get astronaut food for you. A nice tube of beef, a packet of liquid salt. You’ll be practically begging to come back to the Mousehole,” she said playfully. “Oh, but Clint and J’onn and I can have regular people food. Sorry about that!”

Charming, yes, Most people would find all this - vigilantes on the run, in a looming castle no less - on paper, something like charming. (He’d skimmed enough fanfic to know that it was more than a bit of a niche. Nothing on coffee shops, though. For some reason. Perhaps an over-representation of baristas in creative writing circles.) Or might’ve, once upon a time. Not that the world had just magically stopped believing in, making, breaking heroes, the moment the Accords landed. That was just human nature, maybe. Was it Martian nature? Vic had never been accused of a lack of imagination, but it was difficult to fathom anything sentient failing to stumble into story-telling in some sense. Could be considered anthropocentric. But - how else did a mind get by? Make sense of experience? What was a hero, by Martian definition? What did M’gann think, really, of following in her uncle’s footsteps? Being a super-someone, in her own right?

Things to ask another time, maybe. He’d remember. 

Leaving that to a thoughtful hum, Vic twisted the cat’s cradle through a few shapes. It was strange, still, to hear his actual name said, when he’d lost his face. Strange, but not bad. Just. Different. M’gann was one of the very, very few who knew. Or, at least, the very few who he knew to know. Telepathy must take all the fun out of investigative work. “Hrm. Must be bored stiff, if that’s what passes for a mystery around here.” She was probably humouring him. Or at least the - what had Helena called it? Mystery man mojo. Story-telling. “Nothing. In particular. The usual.” Work. Their kind of work. Unpredictable and demanding and generally rough on the joints. But it kept him running, often literally. What was holding M’gann together, besides avoiding difficult questions? Work. He’d heard how much she did, around here. Could see it. And there was the library, in town. Never seemed to stop. Almost like she wanted to avoid whatever might be waiting, in the space between one job and another. Like small talk. Or, apparently, people choked up about space invaders with psionic powers and secrets. 

Maybe this would help. Maybe not. Might keep her busy, anyway. She could always say no. He shifted over to the other side of the doorframe, still staying well out of the dovecot. “Was meaning to ask you something. For something. Help.” The string slipped through his fingers, winding into something new. Round and round, in and out. “There’s somewhere I need to go. And can’t. So. I was wondering if you could help me get there. Or close enough. Just - for a little.” She’d understand what he meant. Wouldn’t she? About to find out. 

“I wouldn’t say…” It was true, though. M’gann kept herself occupied, not entertained. Day in and day out she worked. Much of it had become routine. Cooking, cleaning, tending, and, at the library, lending. She’d always been a hard worker, but now that she lived in the Mousehole she’d taken it to a new extreme. All that work made it easier for her to slip by in the periphery. Too familiar to be noticed. Too busy to be pulled aside for questioning.

Things still got out, though. Clearly.

“I’ve started dreaming about hero work again,” she said in a hushed tone. Conspiratorial. As if it were a secret. He’d know, though most of there companions would not, that when M’gann said she was dreaming about hero work, she meant a little something more creative.

Help. Vic’s kind of help! He’d had her attention already, now he had that glint in her eye. Hope. The lean and hungry look of someone in need of more. “Where?” She felt around with her mind again. No one close. No one keeping an eye on her just now. “When?” Questions with double meanings, the both of them. But she was eager to use her powers for good. To open the lid on her telepathy just so. Just so.

@maybemaybemartian​

Sokovia was certainly better than some of the shitholes Rose had found herself passing through over the years, though she was fairly certain it still ranked top five. The people were nice, the food was good, but the devastation from years prior was still clear. There was work to be done, to be certain. The difference between other ravaged countries that Rose had passed through was, well…she wasn’t exactly sure how much she was just passing through. She was on a mission, and the mission could take time. So she may as well start calling Sokovia home sweet home for at least a little while. Rose had spent a good amount of time exploring, getting to know the ins and outs of Matchak and picking up cultural tidbits. Languages had always been a breeze for her, so immersing herself wouldn’t be hard. However, she’d run into a few familiar faces, and Rose’s mission was becoming a little more clear. Maybe it was a coincidence, but she’d been in the game long enough to know that not much was.

Speaking of familiar, she could’ve spotted that flash of red hair a mile away. Rose had seen it in a flash first, which led her to to the library in the first place. Sure, she liked libraries, but the need for a book wasn’t exactly what brought her through the doors. “We certainly aren’t in Kansas anymore, Toto,” Rose said as she approached the familiar face, a lazy grin spreading across her face. “Though I should have guessed I’d find you in a library. Oh wait, I did.”

Telepathic radar was an incredibly useful superpower right until someone somehow magically existed without a telepathic signature for M’gann to read. Martians considered having a telepathic signature akin to eating or breathing. It was a key measure of life. People, animals, even plants and microorganisms had their own channels that could be homed in on like a radio signal.

This gave Rose one heck of an advantage over her Martian friend.

“Goodness gracious,” M’gann gasped, startling out of her seat. “Rose!” Her hand dropped from its fear place over her heart. She rather sheepish about letting someone get the jump on her, but at least it was Rose. Undetectable Rose Wilson. “I should make you wear a bell. But I missed you, too, Dorothy.” M’gann took a step forward, unsure of the etiquette for greeting dear friends who hadn’t been able to get in contact with oneself because one had destroyed all of one’s electronics and disappeared from one’s last known location in a well-calculated attempt to be about as undetectable as Rose herself. Confound it. M’gann went in for the hug.

“What are you doing here?” Not here in this library. “In Sokovia, I mean. Not in this library. Okay, in Sokovia and in this library.”

It was cute when she pretended that she hadn’t indeed been tongue-tied at the sight of him. But then again, Bucky understood—it was a big change. He looked more like a person, less like something broken and half-feral. Less like the sort of vagabond Bucky himself would’ve stood between his ma or sisters walking down the street. He wondered, idly, if M’gann had meant it when she’d said he looked handsome with his hair restored. Could humans even look handsome to Martians? Or did they all look ridiculous? Probably the latter. It was a funny thought.

“Something old,” Bucky replied at the question, giving the redhead a quirk of his mouth. That was enough to explain, and he was glad she’d offered the chance. Good eyes, she had. 

The request for a favor that followed, though, was surprising. Bucky raised his brows in wait, watching the play of emotions over M’gann’s face. Whatever she was asking for, she was being awkward about it—though his interest was piqued when M’gann said that Barton had already agreed to it. Whatever it was. 

Whatever this something he’d enjoy was. 

—Then, windingly, nervously, M’gann finally stopped circling. And when she reached her point…

“Would I,” Bucky replied with feeling, his usual cool exterior effectively cracked. Like broken ice, showing the still-living water underneath. Go to space. A surprised laugh startled from his lips at the very thought, lips pulling into a grin; he shook his head, thoughts spilling fast and easy from his mouth. “Hell, of course I’d go with you, what kind of question—yeah, M’gann, of course.” He shook his head, bewildered and—honestly, a bit touched. What the hell? The warmth bloomed in Bucky’s chest, unbidden and strange, spilling blood-warm. (Even as a part of him whispered that it had to be a reason, it had to be some kind of trap, the rest of him said—how kind.) “You thought of me? Specifically? For this?” Just because he’d told her once, in a moment of weakness, that he’d dreamed of space as a child?

(Suspicious, unlikely, but—kind. Again. So kind.) 

For just a moment longer, M’gann remained quite indignant. She shook her head a little bit to temper herself down. Though he wasn’t helping matters, she was far more annoyed at herself than him. She had, indeed, been a little tongue-tied. She’d revealed a glimpse at her own hand without even intending to. But her mind caught on a twang of humor from him. Something had struck him as funny and, although she couldn’t know what, it did make her wonder. This man, human in spite of all his years and strength, what would it take for him to see her as someone who truly belonged in this world? She shook her head again. Slower, more at a loss this time. What would it take for her to believe that she belonged, herself? “It looks good,” she repeated. Gently, she added, “How does it feel?”

Her hands flew to her heart in genuine surprise as Bucky answered. His voice and his mind were both so loud! Not at all painful, but certainly startling. It was like he’d woken up. Like someone turned on all the lights. Like the time machine had cracked the door open. There were a few uncanny notes of suspicion, maybe even the drop of a threat, but mostly Bucky seemed and sounded delighted to have been offered the chance. Goodness. That joy, that joy, that special joy was like no other.

“Of course, of course,” she said with a nod. “Do you remember the night you helped me prepare the deer?” It was a night M’gann remembered well. “You told me about how you’d loved those dime-store novels and radio broadcasts about space. That you’d spent so much time thinking about other planets and galaxies far, far away.” Even if he didn’t remember, and she felt hopeful that he did, their exchange that night held a special place in her heart. “I can’t offer you different worlds on this trip,” M’gann continued thoughtfully, “but I was hoping a space walk off the watchtower would tide you over.”

She had such a way with animals. Was that something super, too? Or part of the powers he already knew of? Maybe they just liked her. Because M’gann M’orzz was very likeable. Which had been profoundly suspect, at first. At first.  

That was the point, perhaps, that some of their supposed colleagues had missed; the fact that despite it being entirely possible for Miss Martian to compel them to snort broken glass or take a running start off the castle roof or gouge their own eyes out or do just about whatever else she might possibly want, she hadn’t ever actually done anything of the sort, in all the time she’d been here. Not to anyone. Not out of anger, or by accident. Or, if she had, she was spectacularly good at hiding it. From her uncle. Who was even more powerful than she was. (Supposedly. Difficult to assess.) And the rest of the League - people like Diana, and Bruce, and… Kent. And him. M’gann must’ve known how watched she was. And with all that, she’d stayed kind. Despite the odds. 

Didn’t mean she was any less of a potentially catastrophic threat. But Vic struggled to picture her choosing that, which was unusual, given that Vic rarely struggled to picture much of anything, as possibilities went, and that it would be very, very easy for her to do so. Arguably much easier than raising pigeons on a castle rooftop in a foreign country under reconstruction with a who’s who of infamous and internationally wanted fugitives. Simpler for her to be a supervillain. And yet. 

 The birds were muttering. Not in a way he could understand, not like the stones and mortar and history around them. Unsettling. “Practical.” She’d always struck as that. As for the deerstalker, Tot’s abiding love for those Grenada specials aside, it wasn’t really Vic’s style. But in this case, at least, the thought counted. “It’ll survive.” Looked pretty good perched on that jackalope mount, actually. His hands needed something to do; with a smoke off the table, given the company, he settled for… what did he have in his pockets? Perfect - a spare length of red yarn, from some late night spent at the walls. He listened along, tying it in a loop by feel. There she went. Thinking of his human frailties. Considerate. “Not especially.” The string was winding into a solo cat’s cradle. “Are you? Comfortable, inside? I hear this barrel of monkeys has done some shit-slinging, since that last… snafu.” 

Not all of them, perhaps. But enough to colour him concerned. One would be enough - this alleged alliance was unsteady enough as is, and what’d gone on, gone wrong, at Mikhailovich Fortress was still in the air. Clouding around Miss Martian, and unfairly so, as far as he could tell.  

She could have told Vic, if he’d asked, that it was a branch of telepathic empathy that M’gann considered to be just about the furthest thing from mind control on her telepathic spectrum. She felt their telepathic signatures. She saw them and let them swirl around her. And then her own signature let out barely perceptible signals of peace and companionship. Of being not a threat. Of being a source of comfort. It had always happened naturally for M’gann. At least with animals. Humans were more complex. Less capable of being set at ease by the tiniest dose of harmony radiating off a stranger, not even being projected directly into their own minds. But with animals it was more than enough to build a foundation that gradually, it evolved into trust.

“Oh yes. A charming notion,” she said airily, sprinkling some more seed for the birds to her right. “Eminently practical and yet appropriate as always.” He had a bit of red string now. Knowing Vic, it probably came from a conspiracy board tying an improbable world leader to an even more improbable event, current, past, or as yet unknown, along with a series of complicated interloping figures. Knowing Vic.

M’gann frowned. “Now, now. There’s no need for that kind of foul language around the fowl, Mr. Sage.” A tactic of delay that she well knew wouldn’t work with him. One couldn’t help but try. “You’ve mysteriously reappeared in the middle of a blizzard. What’s going on this time, Vic?” A question for a question. That sometimes did it.

“My oh my, Miss Martian,” Bucky replied, raising a brow, “I do believe you were tongue-tied there for a second.” The thought was endlessly amusing. Not at M’gann’s expense, really—more for how many people had done double-takes at the sight of him, the shocked reactions. Apparently the hair really made a difference. Natasha had done a perfect job, the way he’d known she would. 

He looked like Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes again. Bucky Barnes. Not the Soldier. He was still easing into it, whatever the new in-between he’d been working on for the past few years was, but it felt good.

“But thanks, yeah. Figured I’d make a change.” Bucky inclined his head with a little smile. “You said you’d wanted to run into me?” She definitely had, if she was stepping out of the Mousehole and joining him on his rounds. Not that Bucky had ever minded patrols, necessary as they were, but he knew that most folks found them boring. The threat of an attack seemed far-fetched to most of them, but Bucky wasn’t so sure. Not with how many of them were there, that was only a matter of time. 

So. It wasn’t like having someone who could sense people in the vicinity was unwelcome. He might even consider easing up on his vigilance in deference to the walking threat-radar that was M’gann M’orzz. Maybe. Old habits and all that.

“I wasn’t tongue-tied.” M’gann pressed her hands to her face in momentary frustration. “I was simply surprised that you’d gotten a haircut.” She took a quick breath of cold winter air. “Is all.” Confound it. She’d almost had herself convinced until that little follow-up.

“What’s the occasion? Just felt like something new?” M’gann tilted her head to the side in thought. He hadn’t always been the Winter Soldier. In fact, of late, there had been slight changes in him. Something just a pinch lighter. Something ever so slightly warmer. It reminded her of the man he’d told her about. The one who loved cheap paperback novels. The one who danced. She continued softly, “Felt like something old?”

“Oh, yes,” M’gann said awkwardly, remembering herself. “I wanted to ask you for a favor.” She’d wanted to catch him alone to ask, too. She’d barely gotten Bucky to ease up on her. If she asked him in his usual company, someone might have a conniption. Hopefully if Bucky declined, he would let her down gently and let her leave in peace rather than in pieces. “It’s a big favor. You can feel free to say no.” Really, he could. “Clint has already agreed.” He was easier to ask. Easier in general. “I just thought you’d enjoy it.” She gave him what she hoped was a reassuring smile.

“I’ve been assigned a new mission. Short-term,” she clarified. “Should only take a few days.” A week at the very most. “I’ll be accompanying the ordinance from Mikhailovich to a safe place where it won’t pose a threat to anyone and won’t be in danger of being stolen.” M’gann nodded, easing into it. “We’re going to be heading up to the Watchtower. J’onn, that’s my uncle, the Martian Manhunter,” who she was practically aching to see, just mentioning that she was going to see him had her almost hopping on her toes with excitement, “will pick us up and then lend us his ship on the way back. Would you like to come with us? To space?”

The response made her smile. Betty loved children. In another life, she had wanted them. Little nerdy children with big smiles and gentle hearts. Now, though, she knew that wasn’t really in the picture. With Red and the way her DNA had been changed, plus her age creeping higher all the time… She knew quite well that her father had stolen it from her. But The General and she hadn’t been on the same wavelength for years. Maybe her whole life. Regardless, to hear that the children of Sokovia trusted her rather than fearing the doctor because it was the doctor was… nice. “I’m glad they aren’t afraid,” she said. “That’s the last thing I’d want.” Of course… they would be if she was ever seven feet tall, loud mouthed, and destroying things. But Red didn’t come out during appointments, and Betty kept her equilibrium chill enough that she didn’t lose control. Or she hadn’t. It wasn’t like Bruce. Thus far the only “incident” since coming to Sokovia was when Red wouldn’t give up the body after the drones.

“I will certainly take that praise,” she replied playfully. “Keep it coming, my self-esteem could use a boost.” Betty was only teasing, of course. She did that far more than others might expect, but she had always been snarky and sassy. 

The question was surprising, because the clinic certainly had and Betty had been desperately trying to figure out who it was. She needed to thank someone. “Oh God, do you know who it was?” She asked. “I… that kind of money doesn’t normally turn up on the doorstep, you know? I’ve been tearing my hair out trying to figure out who I should thank. I barely know anyone here.”

“I’d say the favorite pastimes for children of Matchak ages eight to ten are the movie theater, then any of the playgrounds outside the elementary school after hours, and then going to the doctor for a nice check-up. You should check TripAdvisor. Maybe Yelp.” M’gann smiled back, glad to be of assistance to a person in need of some self-esteem. Not that Dr. Ross actually appeared in true need of the boost.

M’Gann had clearly been told very little to nothing of the story. Bruce had to wonder what his son was telling people had happened and how much he was leaving out. Bruce had been unaware that Jason was alive until he had returned to begin his indiscriminate rampage on the people of Gotham and on Bruce himself. He had willfully toyed with Bruce’s sanity, manipulated his emotions about Jason’s death to get some kind of rise. It had been torment for quite a while before the boy had actually decided to show himself. For all that Jason might claim that Bruce didn’t care about him, Jason had certainly been aware enough at the time that Bruce loved him enough to be manipulated by his return. 

He didn’t appreciate the implication that he had somehow wantonly abandoned his child. “Jason made it very clear that he didn’t want to be found,” he responded. “What, exactly, did he tell you?” Because Bruce was sure he had left out what had been done to Tim, what had occurred when he had kidnapped the Joker and demanded Bruce commit murder to satisfy him. He was sure that the haunting had been minimized. Bruce carried the weight of that boy’s death on his shoulders already. He didn’t need M’Gann telling him he was a bad father. He already knew that he had been. 

Jason had been fifteen years old. Headstrong and willful. Bruce should have fired him. Even if he had, however, he wasn’t sure that Jason would have listened to anything he said. It had been Jason that had stolen the Robin suit after discovering it. Bruce had not wanted another Robin after Dick. Jason stole the mantle before it was given to him, and Tim all but demanded it. Stephanie was much the same. Jason Todd would have done as he pleased in spite of Bruce’s wishes, so it was easier to take him to his side than to push him away. Moreover, the practicality remained observable. Tim had told him once that Batman needed a Robin. That was, in part, true. It kept him level in the field. Kept him connected to his humanity and his control. 

“Jason has become a contract killer, M’Gann. He murders for hire. In deed, he has separated himself from anything that he was before. Not only that, but he left Gotham. Cut all lines of communication. Why should I have sent you to hunt him?”

M’gann froze mid-stir. Particularly powerful emotions often had an effect on her. Bruce’s anger was sharp like a knife and, H’ron, did it cut. There was so much of it that she didn’t quite understand where all of it was coming from. All she’d said aloud was that she didn’t understand and that she and J’onn could have found Jason and brought him home, and she didn’t believe she’d given the impression that she was angry at him. Merely that she was sad. Disappointed and disheartened, yes, but mostly just sad. Though, now, with his defensiveness raking across her mind, she wasn’t exactly pleased to be in his company.

She winced from the anger slicing over her mind as much as from the new information. That pain was just another reason she had been avoiding this conversation, inevitable though it appeared to be. Another reason that would likely have her suffering from a nasty headache until she could attend to her psychic injury and allow herself to rest. And a contract killer, of all the things one could become. How dreadful.

“His mind isn’t the same as it was when he was a teenager.” Jason’s telepathic signature was only just recognizable under all those cracks, all that erosion, and that mysterious something else that M’gann couldn’t quite place yet. M’gann did her best to eschew Bruce’s anger and keep the custard from burning at the bottom of the pan. “Death changed Jason. I’d wager that coming back damaged him even further. If we’d seen to him early, he could have gotten psychiatric help. I wouldn’t have been able to do unsupervised repairs at the time, but if he’d found out early enough, J’onn was more than experienced enough to psychically restore Jason’s signature. At least to return a large part of it. Now it is certainly too late to try anything involved without risking serious consequences.”

The words had Bruce wincing, and he was grateful his back was to her. Much like with Diana, he wouldn’t be able to hide what he was still feeling from M’Gann. The difference was that he had no choice on if he would show her or not. Perhaps, since he’d already done it once and her feeling the vestiges of it against even her best efforts, it might just be better to let her look, but the idea of being so vulnerable again and of seeing tears on the face of someone he cared about that belonged not to them but to him was a lot for him to handle. Still, he had opened the floor. It had been his doing. 

“You aren’t the only one,” he said simply. She must have questions. Surely she would. He was more prepared than before, though exhausted by the upheaval already. 

“Yes. I’m well aware of that.” M’gann had connected with Diana minutes after parting ways with Jason and discovered that Diana had encountered him herself that very same day. But she winced, too. This was exactly why she had neglected to bring it up herself. It was upsetting.

Bruce had created a child soldier, one seen as a weapon, a danger, much as she herself had been, one who was her friend, and that child had died. But then he’d miraculously risen from the dead. And Bruce knew and whatever he had done to retrieve Jason, to see that he got the help he needed, it wasn’t enough.

“I don’t understand,” she whispered, focusing her eyes on her work. “I don’t understand why you didn’t tell J’onn. Why you didn’t tell me.” She forced herself not to cry at the thought of time lost. “We could have found him.” Even altered, his telepathic signature was something either of them could have found. “We could have brought him home.”

*

Days. Weeks. Last life they’d been lucky enough to get years. 

It was almost strange to realize that, even though he could claim to have known Diana for more than a century now, the time they actually got to spend together didn’t even add up to a decade. M’gann had been with her longer than that.  Something Steve could only ever be grateful for - the fact that Diana had anyone, let alone found people to help her save the world, share her life with -  but he still couldn’t help but think of the fears that had stopped Diana dead outside the marketplace. 

Maybe dying and coming back, the fact that he could at all, had skewed his perspective. Perhaps Diana was even right to worry. Not about her being the cause or influence of it, only Steve could own the consequences of his own choices, but just the idea that he seemed to attract an unusual amount of misfortune, that it really was abnormal to continually die of unnatural causes before he even made it to middle age. It didn’t bother Steve, not in the ways that it probably should. It might have turned some men bitter, but he could only be grateful that he got a second chance at all, even when he worried about those he left behind. He might wish for more time, but he never thought he was missing anything, not personally. 

“Then I’m glad she had you.” Steve smiled softly, gesturing vaguely at, well, nothing, but he meant the rest of her and Diana’s team. “All of you lot, really. I … when Diana told me … the last time we were together, I mean,” he still couldn’t bring himself to say last life out loud, not even when he was in the middle of sharing something that was perhaps far more private. “When she told me everything, I worried. Worried what kind of toll losing so many people would -” he cleared his throat, realizing how much he was laying at this woman’s feet, and just after the roller coaster they’d been on to get here. “I’m glad she has you.”

Martians aged to maturity, and then they simply existed. They could go on for centuries, millennia even, unless something put a stop to them. And, usually, something did. Famine, fire, plague, or violence were the four most common causes of death in Martians. One or another got to most of them before they could have the chance to reach any spectacular age. Nearly half of her short life had been dedicated to keeping the Earth and its people safe from harm alongside her dearest Diana, and those eleven years would amount to hardly anything in the greater span of her lifecycle.

She thought about those losses that Steve had acquired throughout his lives. That Diana, too, had collected like pebbles on a foggy shore. And she wondered how much time life would grant. If she would go on forever by Diana’s side, or if she had merely a handful of years more. There was no way to know for certain. The thought of it, the knowledge that she might go any amount of time, another hundred years or another hundred days, only to die… To die. To leave Diana all alone once more. It was almost unbearable.

“I’m glad she has you,” M’gann said softly. “Truly, I am. Even though we’re only meeting now I…” She puzzled over how to say it right. “I’ve known since the day I met Diana that you mean a very great deal to her. I’m so grateful that she has had you. That she has you again, now.” That there was another person who would remain, or at the very least return, to Diana’s life even if something were to happen to M’gann herself. “I realize we’ve had something of a rough start, my fault,” she added apologetically, “but I very much hope we can be friends. If all goes well, we’ll be spending a lot of time in the same circles.”

“I did,” Betty said, catching the smaller girl’s hand and giving it a shake. “I really appreciated you thinkin about me. I certainly didn’t expect to get a gift.” Glancing to the computer, she nodded. “Can I help you with that?” It looked like a lot of stuff for only a few librarians. “Then maybe you could have time to give me a few recommendations?” Betty had more time on her hands now. She wasn’t sure what she was waiting for, per se. She wasn’t sure if she was waiting for someone to reach out or if the reticence came from within and her uncertainty about who she was. About what Red’s presence meant she would be going forward. She had lost seven years thanks to the army. To her father. Maybe the real reason she hadn’t mobilized as aggressively as she should have was because she needed to spend a little time living for herself before throwing herself into Bruce’s team and trying to figure out if maybe she could belong there. 

Red meant that she couldn’t live this semi-normal, if eclectic, life forever. But libraries and books were a good diversion from the inevitability of escalation. “I’m still in the process of upgrading the electric in the clinic. Finally got the money to do it. So I’d much rather rely on books than television or something like that.”

“Oh, of course. Of course! I’ve had about seven little ones who’ve told me all about their trip to the doctor.” About a great many things, really. The children’s section was M’gann’s pride and joy. She’d put a good deal of time towards rebuilding that space, so it was bright and beautiful for the youngest patrons. Now that things were finally in full swing at the library, she was able to hold story hour every day. Soon she’d be able to begin running workshops and afterschool programs. The children she met told her everything about everything. Not only had M’gann heard about Dr. Ross, M’gann had heard about all their various ailments and the predicaments that had led up to their visits to the doctor. To help these poor children with those kinds of troubles, be they horrendous or benign… “Sounds to me like you are a person entirely deserving of an honorary library card.”

M’gann tilted her head to the side, squinting ever so slightly. The clinic had finally gotten the money to do it… That timing. It couldn’t be coincidence. Just how much money had Jason stolen? “Has the clinic found a generous benefactor?” she asked, a little playful. Interested, but not over-interested. More of a light tease than anything at all pointed.

M’gann’s telepathic radar kept the signatures of everyone living in the Mousehole, and anyone else who wandered within her resting range, constantly on her mind. The close proximity over several months, too, meant that M’gann had naturally acclimated to most of the Nomads. Diana and the rest of the League, though some of their imprints had initially faded during her three-year hiatus, M’gann could sense without needing to search over incredibly long distances. After living among the Avengers, she’d acclimated to them as well. No. Finding Bucky wasn’t hard.

The hard part was actually asking what she needed to ask instead of hopping from foot to foot and ultimately deciding to spend the evening doing something else that needed to be done around the Mousehole. Levitating all the dust and cobwebs from the floors and ceilings of every hallway in the fortress to see just how big a dust-bunny she could put together, for instance. Totally necessary and about the size of a Holland Lop. She didn’t make a habit of avoiding Bucky. Far from it, M’gann enjoyed spending time with him. He knew what she could do. She didn’t have any reason to hide herself from him. And he was good company. The real problem was that this was a big favor to ask, and M’gann knew it. She knew full well that he might say ‘no’ and be angry that she was preparing for such a mission. But she couldn’t put off asking any longer.

He was on a patrol, and M’gann came walking up from the direction in which he was heading so that he could see her coming. Even came from a part of the fortress with a side door, though she hadn’t used it, so it wouldn’t seem like she was popping up out of nowhere. Didn’t want to startle him. “Good evening,” she said with a little wave. “I was hoping to run into…” M’gann trailed off. His hair was different. His hair was very different. All the telepathic radar in the world and she couldn’t sense a haircut. M’gann nodded a few times, composing herself. If she were lucky, he’d chalk up the redness in her cheeks to the cold air. “You look very handsome.” Good. “I guess it’s been a few days, huh?”

Something to Say? || Bruce and M’Gann

@maybemaybemartian​

After the conversation with Diana, Bruce was on edge. He didn’t like feeling emotionally wrought, and having to deal with day to day life when he wanted to withdraw deep into himself. It was hard to focus, which only made Bruce compensate harder. He had already been on edge before this, and Diana hadn’t helped. So when he stepped into the kitchen, he had hoped that perhaps he wouldn’t have to tighten his jaw and his shoulders around M’Gann of all people. He wasn’t seeking her out to share, though she would likely sense what was going on with him like she always did. Really he was just here for a cup of very strong coffee.

However, it wasn’t quite the welcome he expected. It was quiet between him and the redhead as he made his way to the cupboard. But not a natural and companionable kind of quiet. It was something else. Letting out a slow and silent breath, Bruce paused in his coffee making. “Is there something wrong, M’Gann?” he asked her carefully, trying to remain level.

M'gann wasn’t angry that Bruce had kept secret the knowledge that Jason was alive. Nope. Nope. Nope. She insisted to herself that she was not angry. Bewildered, yes. Verging on horrified, yes. But she would not admit to anger. Instead of confronting him outright, M’gann had allowed Diana to take the lead as she often did. M’gann intended to let herself puzzle it out quietly based on what Diana reported back to her, as they discussed these sorts of things rather than allowing them to go hidden for years until they blew up, and then to keep Bruce at arm’s length until such time as was necessary to reveal that she knew. So, ideally never, but doubtless any time.

Sure enough, Bruce detected that something was up with her. That wasn’t entirely unexpected. He was the ‘world’s greatest detective.’ The real surprise was that Bruce deigned to say anything about it. M’gann was stirring a medley of eggs yolks, milk, and sugar over the stove for a nice dessert custard for the Nomads. Such a task was rather more difficult when making servings for thirty, but it was doable. And it was a relief. She didn’t look away from the mix to face Bruce. “I ran into Jason,” she said, the sting of betrayal perceptible even in four words.

Librarian and Clinician || Betty and M’Gann

@maybemaybemartian​

Betty had been meaning to get by the library since the blizzard when she had found the mysterious packages. She owed M’Gann a thank you, though she still hadn’t figured out who had given her the insane amount of money for the clinic. She probably wouldn’t manage it. Part of her wondered if it wasn’t Matchak itself, like the nice man who had brought the supplies. She didn’t want this city to feel like they should do that. She wanted to help. And she wasn’t just here out of the goodness of her heart. One day, she was hoping that Bruce would show up. She was banking on it. She didn’t know what would happen when he did, but she still waited because she felt like she should.

Don’t think you should. Bruce is a dick.

Shut up, Red.

Love you, B.

Shaking her head, Betty stepped into the little library. It was nice inside. Well-cared for. And finding M’Gann M’Orzz was as simple as asking for the librarian.

“Sorry to bother you, Betty said in Sokovian, which was improving every day. “I just… I’m Betty. Um… Dr. Ross. I wanted to come by and thank you in person for the gift you sent me.”

Several large crates had arrived early that morning with twelve new computers, fourteen ergonomic desk chairs, and three wide tables. The computer lab had been a pipe dream. A little nothing M’gann and the two senior librarians had only been able to speak longingly about. And then the donation had arrived.

“Oh! It’s no bother at all,” M’gann answered. Her Sokovian was flawless, courtesy of her telepathic translation. Certainly came in handy. “Ah, yes. Dr. Ross, I’m M’gann M’orzz.” M’gann put the computer box down on the table and held out her hand. She’d sent the good doctor an almost-ready library card for the holiday season. “It was my pleasure. I’m sorry about the mess. We’re putting together a computer lab. It’s going well, it’s just a bit last minute. Did you bring the card with you today?”

He could feel it, the strained awkwardness that he couldn’t quite make sense of, the niggling feeling that two and two weren’t necessarily stacking up to four, adding to that out-of-control feeling that had him so off-center. Later, if he looked back on it, he might be able to work it out, realize that until he had sunk onto the stairs, there hadn’t actually been anything entirely unreasonable about his reactions, not overtly. Right then, though … perhaps it was cultural, or just personalities clashing. It had taken time, figuring out how to interact with Diana’s more open optimism when he’d been nothing but repressed and cynical. A learning curve that eventually meshed, bringing balance to two opposing worldviews that worked (well, he thought) together towards a common goal. But before that it had been nothing but frustrated urgency, Steve lacking any patience or tolerance for distractions. Now his anxiety was entirely personal, past traumas and present fears blending into a potent mix that he was going to have to work on. A double whammy that she hit with a surprising accuracy. Lucky? Forty-odd years ago, it would have made Steve narrow his eyes in paranoia; before that, suspicion.

But at a younger age, without all the baggage, he would have only apologized, earnestly, able to see the discomfort he was starting to pick up on now and breeze past it with an easygoing, sometimes bumbling charisma. So maybe he should leave, but Steve had never been very good at doing what he should do and he was far too curious now, despite everything.  And after taking a deep breath, he let that guide him forward, climbing to his feet and approaching the table with a considerable amount of care. He didn’t actually want the water, though, and was careful to keep the table between them. The buffer was starting to feel less necessary, at least for him, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off and he didn’t want to unintentionally add to whatever tension lingered.

(She knew Diana, he kept telling himself. Diana trusted her, enough to tell her everything.)

“Hello. I’m Steve Trevor.” He stuck out a friendly hand and while he was putting on a show, the smile didn’t match the one he would have pulled upstairs. Just a slight tug of the lips and a bit forced (but far more genuine.). “I’m an old friend of Diana’s.” Start over, right foot.

She scooted back towards him in the rolling chair and shook his offered hand gently. M’gann never bought into the idea of making an impression with a firm handshake. Why anyone should feel the need to express physical dominance over an introduction was beyond her. “It’s nice to meet you, Steve. I’m M’gann M’orzz.” She decided that she still would not stand without reason. He was putting on a fine show of starting over. Although it did confuse her some, she could appreciate it. She still didn’t want to put any more pressure on him. That tension in his mind hadn’t all gone away.

“I’m also an old friend of Diana’s.” Though not nearly as long lived as either Steve or Diana at a fresh faced twenty-five, “I’ve been by her side for the better part of eleven years. She is as close as I have to family on this Earth. She’s a sister to me.” And that was lovely. On Mars, M’gann had always wanted a sister. Diana had turned out to be the finest sister a girl could ask for.

Then M’gann gave him a little smile and waited, tilting her head to the side ever so slightly.

That snow wasn’t looking to let up anytime soon. But. It appeared that Vic and the Mousehole were on speaking terms, now; the place had been stonily silent, or close to, the last few times he’d drifted through. He’d kept trying, though. Curious. Not sure it would work. And it didn’t. Not the way it did back home, anyway. This time, though? His questions had answers. Or seemed to. He’d find out soon. Vic had read the signs wrong before. Badly. At least tonight that wasn’t likely to lead him into too much trouble. 

Just a blizzard. Wrapped up in his coat - and a heavy sweater, besides - Vic trailed out onto the roof, following the pathways. Through a foot and a half of snow. They’d been cleared not long ago; really was coming down, out here. But he knew his way. More or less. Didn’t take much stumbling around, still aching from his barely-slept-on bruises, to find what he was after, even through the swirl of the storm: the dovecote. Not a bad hiding place. Letting himself in, Vic shook the snow off in the little mudroom. Very little. Those medieval ceilings. Slightly stooped, he considered knocking on the inner door. Then opened it, with a heavy, oaken creak - to startled cooing and flapping. So. They actually had birds in here, now. For what? “Hrm. These are new. Your idea?” Vic took a lean along the doorframe, not coming closer. “Thanks, by the way. For the mysterious delivery. Got me all sentimental. Hat’s not my style, but Douglas, he’s a fan.” If she figured he’d trade Marlboros for bubbles, though, she was out of her thought-reading mind.  

@maybemaybemartian​

The doves seemed to have two schools of thought regarding strangers. Three, if one counted the birds who flew the coop at the first sign of trouble. There were several of those. Most, however, would either fluff up in the corner of their boxes and be very still or fluff up in the front of their boxes and coo ominously. M’gann often tried to soothe them when someone was coming, but it seldom made much difference. “My idea to raise a flock large enough to, er, make use of,” she answered, placing Arliss gently back in his box and giving him a reassuring pat to show that there were no hard feelings.

“My pleasure, really.” Getting the hat was a stroke of luck. The bubble pipe she’d needed to actually hunt for. “I hope you didn’t let your tears of holiday joy get all over the houndstooth.” M’gann glanced over at Vic. Leaning on a doorframe could be seen as cool. Aloof. But she had her own theories. The dovecote was barely large enough for two people to leave room for the holy spirit, for one thing. Not that M’gann believed in such a silly Earth thing, either way. But she’d been cornered in this very room not three weeks before and she was grateful for the breathing space. Plus, she suspected Vic was nursing an injury. Nothing life-threatening, but… Pain registered on the emotions she picked up. Leaning was perfectly natural. In fact, “Would you be more comfortable if we went inside?” It was nice to see him.

It was weirdly cute, the way M’gann summoned a cookie over to herself. It was even cuter when the cookie turned to look over at Clint when M’gann did, as if it had a little mind of its own. That was a neat trick. Clint grinned, slow and easy, at the question; he took another bite of his own cookie to punctuate his point. “Hell yeah, I am. It’s like a vacation, stuck in here with baked goods and boozy coffee to wait the weather out.” 

Clint raised the coffee to his mouth, blowing on it lightly before taking a sip. “How’re you holding up there, kid? I think the others’ve unclenched a bit, so that must help.” He made a pointed effort not to think about how or why one of them, in particular, had… unclenched. He was pretty sure M’gann didn’t listen in on people’s brains on purpose, but he also didn’t want those kinds of thoughts of Natasha to be broadcasted to anyone. “Can’t thank you enough for the cookies, by the way. I’m guessing it’s you who keeps leaving plates all around the Mousehole?” Because who else would it be? 

“Indeed. I’ve never been to a real ski chalet, but I have to imagine this is pretty close. All we need are the actual skis.” And M’gann could make those for herself at the drop of a hat. “Maybe a pair of imperious looking Persian greyhounds with diamond encrusted collars to pace around the master’s chambers.”

“Oh, uh, I’m getting on.” Doing her work and then staying well out of the way. “Yes. Everyone has had the chance to make their feelings known by now. Most of them have come to terms with it in some way.” They sort of had to. The alternatives were impressively unheroic.

M’gann said nothing about any unclenching. Thanks to what M’gann considered to be the most exasperating aspect of her telepathy, she knew perfectly well what Clint and Natasha had gotten up to in their spare time. She also knew who in the Mousehole felt like they were getting away with something when they left the bathroom without washing their hands, which Nomad was sticking mistletoe everywhere, and which one was secretly hoping someone would actually kiss them under it. And far, far more. She knew, but she said nothing about those things to anyone because they were private. Personal. Secret. She couldn’t turn off her telepathy, but she could hold herself to a high ethical standard. 

“How about you? How are you holding up these days?” She took a little bite of her cookie. “I’m glad you’re enjoying them. I swear I’m not making them to make the Mousehole all festive and cheery.” Okay, maybe a little bit. “The baking soothes me.”