Chapter 5: ASSIGNED GUARDIAN
[DEO Headquarters, Director's Office — September 2016, 2:15 PM]
J'onn's office smelled like old paper and coffee. Real coffee, not the watered-down stuff from the break room. The scent hit me the moment the guards escorted me through the door, triggering a sudden, desperate craving.
Focus. Not the time for coffee fantasies.
Kara stood by the window, arms crossed, spine rigid. She'd changed into civilian clothes—button-down shirt, sensible pants, glasses perched on her nose like a disguise nobody actually fell for. Alex flanked J'onn's desk, tablet in hand, expression carefully neutral.
Three against one. Classic interrogation setup. Except the tension in the room suggested this wasn't about questioning me.
"Sit," J'onn said.
I sat.
"The medical evaluation confirmed your species identity," he continued, voice measured. "Daxamite physiology, consistent with historical records. The lead vulnerability aligns with existing data."
"Glad I could help with your database."
J'onn ignored the attempt at humor. "You present a unique situation. An alien of unknown intent, with capabilities that could threaten this facility and everyone in it. Under normal circumstances, we'd transfer you to a secure holding location until we could determine your threat level."
My stomach dropped. Secure holding location. The DEO's version of Guantanamo for extraterrestrials.
"However," J'onn continued, "these aren't normal circumstances. You've cooperated fully. Your psychological profile suggests genuine confusion rather than hostile intent. And frankly—" he glanced at Kara "—we have resources here that a holding facility lacks."
Kara's jaw tightened. She knew what was coming.
"You're staying at the DEO," J'onn said. "Under supervision. And Kara will serve as your cultural liaison."
The silence that followed could have shattered glass.
"No." Kara's voice was flat. Final. "Absolutely not."
"This isn't a request."
"He's Daxamite, J'onn. Do you understand what that means? His people—"
"Are dead." J'onn's tone didn't change, but something in his eyes did. "As are yours. As are mine. Ancient grievances don't survive extinction."
Kara switched to another language—Kryptonian, I realized, recognizing the melodic cadence from the show. Her words came fast and sharp, gestures emphatic. Alex shifted uncomfortably, clearly unable to follow the conversation.
I could. Mostly.
The Daxamite education system had included Kryptonian language study—know your enemy and all that. Mon-El's memories didn't include fluency, but they included enough. Fragments surfaced as Kara spoke: irresponsible, dangerous, centuries of war.
J'onn responded in the same language. His Kryptonian was accented—learned rather than native—but clear enough. Opportunity. Understanding. You were lost once too.
The argument continued for several minutes. I sat very still, keeping my expression carefully confused, like I couldn't follow a word. Showing comprehension would raise questions I couldn't answer.
Finally, Kara broke off. Turned to me with eyes that could have frozen solar plasma.
"Fine." The English word came out clipped, frustrated. "But there are rules."
"I'm listening."
"No using your powers in public. No leaving assigned areas without authorization. No contact with civilians unless supervised. You report anything unusual—anything—immediately."
I nodded to each point. "Understood."
"And if you endanger anyone—human or alien—I will personally put you in a cell so deep you'll forget what sunlight looks like."
"I won't endanger anyone."
"We'll see."
She turned back to J'onn, posture rigid. "Is there anything else?"
"Training sessions start tomorrow. You'll assess his capabilities and begin teaching him control." J'onn held up a hand before she could object. "You're the only one qualified. Alex has operational duties. I have this organization to run. And you—" his voice softened slightly "—understand what it means to learn powers on an unfamiliar world."
Kara's expression flickered. Something vulnerable beneath the anger. Then the mask slammed back into place.
"Tomorrow. 0800. Training room three." She walked past me toward the door, close enough that I could smell her shampoo—something floral, incongruously normal for a superhero. "Don't be late."
The door closed behind her.
Alex cleared her throat. "Well. That went better than expected."
"Did it?" I asked.
"She didn't break anything." Alex almost smiled. Almost. "For Kara, that's practically acceptance."
J'onn rose from his desk, moving toward the window Kara had vacated. National City spread below us—skyscrapers, traffic, millions of people going about their lives without knowing that aliens debated their fates in government buildings.
"She'll come around," he said quietly. "Kara has a good heart. It just takes her time to trust."
"And if she doesn't? Come around?"
J'onn turned to face me. Those ancient eyes, carrying the weight of a dead civilization, studied me with uncomfortable intensity.
"Then we'll find another way. But I think she will." He paused. "There's something about you, Mon-El. Something that doesn't fit the Daxamite profile. I haven't figured out what it is yet."
My heart stuttered. "What do you mean?"
"Your reactions. Your speech patterns. The way you process information." He shook his head slowly. "Daxamites were pleasure-seekers. Hedonists. They didn't sit patiently through medical examinations or accept confinement without complaint. They didn't show concern for others' safety before their own comfort."
"Maybe I'm not a typical Daxamite."
"No." J'onn's gaze sharpened. "You're definitely not."
He didn't press further. Didn't demand explanations I couldn't give. Just let the observation hang in the air between us, a reminder that his patience had limits.
"The guard will escort you to your quarters," he said finally. "Get some rest. Tomorrow will be difficult."
I stood, grateful for the dismissal. "Thank you. For giving me a chance."
"Thank me by not making me regret it."
The guard led me through corridors that were becoming familiar—security checkpoints, reinforced doors, the constant hum of equipment monitoring threats both domestic and extraterrestrial. My quarters turned out to be a small room with a bed, a desk, and a window that looked out onto an interior courtyard.
Not a cell. Not quite freedom either.
I sat on the bed and stared at the badge they'd given me. DEO VISITOR. Temporary access. Subject to revocation.
Tomorrow I'd start training with Kara. Learning to control powers I barely understood in a body that still felt borrowed. Pretending ignorance about a world I'd watched unfold on television screens a lifetime ago.
The show had made it look easy. Mon-El and Kara, circling each other, hostility melting into attraction. The chemistry was obvious from the start—even as enemies, they sparked off each other in ways that drove the narrative forward.
But this wasn't a show. This was my life now, and Kara's hatred wasn't scripted drama. It was real, rooted in centuries of interplanetary conflict and personal loss. She'd watched her world die because of people like me—or people like the one whose body I wore.
Earning her trust wouldn't happen in a montage. It would take time. Patience. Consistency.
And I had to do it while pretending to be someone I wasn't.
I lay back on the bed and closed my eyes. The ceiling was white, featureless, nothing like the forty-two panels in the containment cell. Progress, maybe.
Tomorrow would be difficult, J'onn had said.
I suspected that was an understatement.
Note:
Please give good reviews and power stones itrings more people and more people means more chapters?
My Patreon is all about exploring 'What If' timelines, and you can get instant access to chapters far ahead of the public release.
Choose your journey:
Timeline Viewer ($6): Get 10 chapters of early access + 5 new chapters weekly.
Timeline Explorer ($9): Jump 15-20 chapters ahead of everyone.
Timeline Keeper ($15): Get Instant Access to chapters the moment I finish writing them. No more waiting.
Read the raw, unfiltered story as it unfolds. Your support makes this possible!
👉 Find it all at patreon.com/Whatif0