Rating: PG
Fandom: DC Comics
Characters/Pairings: Bruce/J'onn, mentions of J'onn's family
Summary: Every martian year, on the anniversary, J'onn goes home. To remember.
Wordcount: 887
Continuity: *shrugs* Pick what suits you?
Notes: for
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
senmut. Also inspired by this image. Martian language not official, by the way.Silent Spaces, Hand in Hand
It was dawn on Ma'aleca'andra. J'onn wondered if he would ever think of it as Mars. Maybe never. And not now. Now was not the time for the harsh words of the present. Only the whispers of the past.
The sun brushed gold over the red-and-ochre plains, moving like dust, moving like dreams. He remembered it well, remembered other dawns here. Dawns where that golden tide flowed up against the towers of his people, dawns where it picked out the dancing forms of others of his kind. He remembered them so well, standing on this ground, remembered their shapes, their movements, the lightness of their being. He remembered them. But they were long gone now. Gone, and leaving only silence.
Maybe it was the silence that wounded deepest of all, more even than the hard, human words that filled his mind in these times. Maybe it was the vast, hollow echoing of an empty planet, devoid of people, devoid of his people. There was no hum in the back of his mind, no gentle awareness of the huge network of minds weaving their world together. No gentle touch on his psyche, whispered reminders from M'yri'ah to come home early, to be careful, to remember his daughter's celebration. Nothing. Nothing but emptiness, where once there had been everything.
How had he lost so much? How had he borne it? In all this time, how had he managed to keep going, in the face of this emptiness, this silence? How had it not destroyed him?
{J'onn?}
He stiffened, surprised, turning to see the human making his laborious way across the dust to his side. He stared at him, at the dark, bulky shape in the redness of Ma'aleca'andra, the harsh crunch of heavy footsteps, a figure so real, so tangible, that it seemed completely out of place in the wash of light and memory that was all that remained of his world. J'onn didn't know to react, not now, not here, with the grief so close. He regretted the way the past receded before that form, regretted how the reality of his companion pushed back the memories, and yet, he felt ridiculously grateful for that rich, vibrant presence. There could be no emptiness around this man.
{Bruce} he acknowledged, finally, reaching out a spiny hand to his companion. Bruce took it immediately, swift assurance, and J'onn was vividly reminded once again of the physicality of that presence, the immobility of it. Bruce would never dance as his people had danced, never shift and flow in the sunlight, never move with the lightness that reduced density had given his people. Bruce would never be Martian. He would never belong here, in this hollow emptiness.
{J'onn?} Soft, so soft. So many would be surprised, maybe, how soft Bruce could be, how gentle. He had pulled J'onn to him, slowly but firmly, hands in bulky gloves wrapped gently around J'onn's upper arms, blue eyes worried and loving as they met his. There was ... an eloquence to him, like this, an open expression that rarely graced his taciturn features. Perhaps the emptiness here had leached away even the Batman's formidable walls.
{I am ... well} he answered, aware even as he said it how ridiculous it was. His mate, his soul, Bruce could feel every tear of agony in his heart, every wisp of melancholy, of loneliness, of loss. Bruce knew him, all of him, and did his best with fragmented instinct to wrap himself around the wounds in J'onn's soul, to heal and hold and love, aching and adoring in turn. It broke J'onn's heart, that love, over and over again, and remade it each time.
{You are not well} Bruce said, arch and sarcastic and so very tender. {Not here. You are never well, here}
It was true. He was not. Could never be. But he had to come. Now that he had the freedom, the support, the ships, he had to come. Once every Martian year. On ... the anniversary. He had to come. And Bruce knew it, and accepted it. Didn't like it, of course, but accepted it.
{I ... need} J'onn whispered, ache and desperation and love and remembrance. {Them. This. I need}
And Bruce looked at him, blue eyes stormy and compassionate behind his helmet, infinitely understanding, at least of this, of this memorial, of this remembrance. Unbidden, J'onn saw a rose in an alley, a date on a calendar, the images old and aching and linked inextricable to the golden dawn of Ma'aleca'andra in his mate's mind. Two losses. One grief. Bruce knew.
{Dor'anun Ma'aleca'andra} Bruce whispered suddenly, his mind fumbling a little with the words, halting and uncertain. J'onn stared, stunned. {Dor'anun M'yri'ah. Dor'anun K'hym} He stopped, flushed, but fiercely determined, meeting J'onn's eyes full on. {Remember, J'onn. Remember them. I'll be here. I'll wait}
And there. There, J'onn felt his heart shatter once more, and rebuild itself around this man, around Bruce, his heart, his soul. He reached in, fading through the suit, pressing intangible lips to Bruce's forehead, threading intangible hands through those of his mate, his soul. He held there for a long moment, feeling the fierce, immutable beating of Bruce's heart, feeling the love of the man in his soul. Then, he drew back, meeting blue eyes for a second, and looked out across the golden dawn.
{Dor'anun Ma'aleca'andra} he echoed.
Remember Mars.
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+sighs+ If they don't promote me in February after I have been doing this job for however many weeks until we get a replacement, I will scream.
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*grins* You deserved it!