[National City, Overlook Point — August 2017, 8:15 PM]
The cliff had significance.
Mon-El stood at the edge, watching the city spread beneath him like a tapestry of light. This was the place where they'd almost kissed months ago—back before everything had crystallized between them, when they were still dancing around the obvious. The place where he'd first realized that his feelings for Kara were more than attraction or convenience.
It seemed fitting to return here for this conversation.
He'd rehearsed the words a hundred times. In the shower. During patrols. In the quiet moments between emergencies. Every variation sounded wrong—too dramatic, too casual, too confusing, too terrifying. There was no perfect way to tell someone you loved that you weren't entirely who they thought you were.
But he had to try.
Kara landed beside him, her cape settling around her shoulders like a familiar friend. "Your message sounded serious. Is everything okay?"
"Everything's fine." He turned to face her, his heart pounding despite all his strength. "I just... there's something I need to tell you. Something important."
"Okay." She moved closer, concern and curiosity mixing in her expression. "I'm listening."
The words gathered in his throat. He'd practiced this. He knew what to say.
Kara, I'm not who you think I am. Not entirely. There's something about my past—about who I really am—that I've been keeping from you.
I'm from another world. Not Daxam. A different kind of other world. A place where your life is a story I watched unfold. I died there, somehow, and woke up here, in this body, with this life.
I love you. That's real. Everything I feel is real. But the person feeling it isn't the same person you met in that cell.
He opened his mouth.
Both their comms screamed simultaneously.
"Priority alert," J'onn's voice cut through, sharp with urgency. "All available units to downtown commercial district. Unidentified hostile, significant property damage, civilian casualties possible."
Kara was already lifting off. "Hold that thought," she said, reaching for his hand. "Whatever it is—we'll talk after."
They flew together, the moment shattered, the confession swallowed back into the silence where it had lived for too long.
---
The hostile turned out to be an alien toddler.
This wasn't immediately apparent. What was apparent was a three-ton mass of scales and muscle barreling through the downtown shopping district, crushing vehicles, shattering storefronts, and screaming at a pitch that made Mon-El's enhanced hearing feel like a liability.
"What is that?" Kara shouted over the noise.
"Gorganite!" Winn's voice crackled through their comms. "Native to the Zeta Reticuli system. They're usually peaceful—pastoral society, famous for their architecture—"
The creature—child, Mon-El corrected himself, recognizing the proportions now—plowed through a fire hydrant, sending water spraying fifty feet into the air.
"This one seems agitated!"
"Gorganites mature slowly. This one reads as approximately eighteen months in their developmental cycle. It's basically a toddler throwing a tantrum."
"A three-ton toddler," Mon-El muttered, diving to intercept before the child reached a crowd of panicked civilians. His TK field extended, creating a barrier that the young Gorganite crashed into with considerable force.
It wasn't hurt—their species was remarkably durable—but it was definitely surprised. The screaming stopped momentarily, replaced by what might have been confusion.
"Hey," Mon-El said, keeping his voice calm. "Hey, it's okay. You're okay."
The Gorganite child stared at him with eyes the size of dinner plates. Then it started crying.
The sound was devastating—a subsonic wail that shook windows for three blocks. Kara clapped her hands over her ears. Civilians fled in renewed panic. Somewhere nearby, a car alarm started shrieking in sympathy.
"This is worse!" she shouted.
"It's scared!" Mon-El shouted back. "It's lost and scared and doesn't know where its parents are!"
He thought about Emma Chen—the little girl he'd saved from the fire, back before his powers had fully developed. He'd held her hand through her terror, talked her through the smoke and flames. Children were children, regardless of species.
He lowered himself slowly, making himself smaller, less threatening. The TK barrier dissolved. He extended one hand, palm up, in a universal gesture of peace.
"It's okay," he said, softer now. "You're safe. We're going to help you find your family."
The Gorganite sniffled—a sound like an avalanche of gravel—and took one tentative step toward him. Then another. Then it collapsed against his chest, wrapping scaled arms around him with strength that would have crushed a human.
"There we go." Mon-El patted what he hoped was a shoulder. "There we go. It's going to be fine."
---
The parents were found two hours later—frantic Gorganite refugees whose child had wandered away from their temporary housing during a moment of inattention. The reunion was tearful, grateful, and involved a lot of subsonic communication that Mon-El couldn't follow but understood regardless.
By the time the DEO had sorted everything out, it was nearly midnight. Mon-El and Kara sat on the hood of an abandoned car, watching the cleanup crews work.
"Well," Kara said, exhaustion coloring her voice. "That was unexpected."
"You could say that."
She turned to look at him, fatigue softening into something warmer. "What were you going to tell me? Before we got called away?"
The moment had come. The words were right there, ready to be spoken.
But the context was wrong. They were exhausted, sitting amid debris, covered in dust and alien mucus from a toddler's crying fit. This wasn't the confession he'd planned. This wasn't the serious, meaningful moment he'd tried to create.
And maybe that was an excuse. Maybe he was just a coward.
"That I love you," he said.
Not the truth. Not a lie. A deferral.
Kara's smile was tired but genuine. "I love you too."
They sat together in the aftermath, holding hands, watching the city slowly return to normal. The confession would have to wait for another time.
Mon-El promised himself there would be another time.
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