DC's Justice League Biddle Bit of nothing.
J’onn watches over the cafeteria quietly, slowly eating the last of his Oreo cookies. There is something in the texture and the sweetness that eludes him, and makes his heart gladly happy, and so he ignores the issue of transfats and preservatives. He’s not entirely sure that they matter to his physiology, anyway, and yes, yes, he was overthinking and it would be wise to just eat his Oreo’s and not ponder their ingredients.
“You know, they taste good with milk,” Batman says, dropping into the seat beside him. His own tray is a perfect mix of complex carbohydrates and lean proteins. “I used to dip them in milk. Makes a hell of a mess. But good.” He doesn’t smile. He rarely does. But sometimes, it is there, in the edges of his voice, and it makes J’onn’s own lips curve upwards. So much darkness in the man, but not wholly unleavened. He would like to meet the man who had stood by him, the Alfred he has a brief flash of, holding a tray of milk and Oreos as though it were some sort of panacea.
He looks at Batman, eating quietly and methodically. Alive, and broken, yes, but still unbowed. Of all the humans and metahumans he has encountered, Batman is the one he understands the least. Batman looks up to find him watching.
“No fair peeking,” he says drily, but without any real concern. His deepest secrets are well-locked away, in a darkness J’onn could not even begin to penetrate.
J’onn does not understand much of what motivates humanity, they are alien to him, both literally and figuratively, but this much he recognizes, feels kinship with. Some places inside are forever empty, forever lost, charnel houses that stretch the length of an entire world and span the space of a man’s - or a Martian’s - chest.
He offers Batman the last of his Oreos in silence, and is surprised when he takes it.
Have a nice day.
B