# Mount Justice - Team Integration Week One
**DAY 2 - 0830 HOURS - TRAINING FACILITY**
Connor stood in the observation booth with his arms crossed, watching the range below like he was observing a nature documentary about territorial male behavior. Which, honestly, wasn't far off.
"So this is happening," he said flatly.
Down on the range, Roy was setting up targets with the kind of intense focus usually reserved for defusing nuclear weapons or assembling IKEA furniture. Except this was way more aggressive than furniture assembly. This was a man with something to prove.
Artemis, meanwhile, was just... existing. Checking her bow. Organizing arrows. Completely oblivious to the psychosexual archer dominance ritual happening three feet away.
"This is absolutely going to end in someone getting shot," M'gann announced through their telepathic link, her mental voice carrying that specific mix of concern and morbid fascination you get watching reality TV. "Not fatally. Probably just, like, a flesh wound that generates dramatic tension."
Connor glanced at her. She was leaning against the observation window with her arms crossed, red hair catching the morning light in a way that made his quantum consciousness briefly lose track of probability assessments.
"Can you not predict team injuries with that casual tone?" he asked.
"I'm preparing emotionally for disaster," M'gann replied cheerfully. "It's called healthy coping mechanisms. You should try it."
"My healthy coping mechanism is tactical analysis and probability matrices."
"That's literally the opposite of healthy coping," Dick interjected from Connor's other side. He was wearing workout clothes that looked suspiciously designer for someone about to observe training. "That's just anxiety with math."
"It's not anxiety, it's—"
"Preparation?" Dick finished. "Connor, my dude, that's what everyone with anxiety says. Trust me, I learned from the best." He paused. "By which I mean Batman, who has enough anxiety to power a small city and channels it into elaborate contingency planning."
"I don't have—" Connor stopped, realizing this was a losing argument. "Can we focus on the imminent archer catastrophe?"
"Oh, absolutely." Dick turned his attention back to the range. "So, odds Roy makes this weird?"
"He already made it weird," M'gann said. "Look at his shoulders. That's 'threatened male ego' posture if I've ever seen it. Which I have. Frequently. It's like seventy percent of male superhero body language."
Connor's enhanced perception analyzed Roy's stance—tension in the trapezius, elevated cortisol indicators, micro-expressions suggesting competitive anxiety masked as professional focus.
"Seventy-three percent probability he's treating this as competition for team dominance," Connor confirmed. "Artemis's emotional signature shows zero competitive drive. She thinks this is collaborative training."
"Poor, beautiful, oblivious Artemis," M'gann sighed. "She's about to accidentally destroy a man's entire self-concept."
"Should we intervene?" Connor asked Dick.
Dick considered this with the expression of someone doing complex moral calculus. "Narratively? We should let this play out. It's good character development. Practically? We should probably stop this before Roy's fragile male ego causes a workplace incident."
"Those are contradictory assessments."
"Welcome to leadership," Dick replied. "It's all contradictory assessments and hoping nobody dies while you figure out which contradiction to prioritize."
Down on the range, Roy had finally finished his elaborate target setup. He turned to Artemis with a smile that Connor's social analysis immediately flagged as "definitely not genuine."
"Standard precision drill," Roy announced, his voice carrying up to the observation booth. "Moving targets, variable distances, time pressure. We alternate runs, compare accuracy scores."
"Sure," Artemis agreed easily. "Though this is just training, right? Not a formal assessment?"
Connor felt M'gann's amusement spike through their link. *Oh honey,* she transmitted. *It's so much an assessment.*
"Of course it's just training," Roy said with a tone that absolutely screamed "this is definitely not just training." "I figured since we're both archers, we should practice together. Compare techniques."
"Makes sense," Artemis confirmed, still radiating complete obliviousness.
Roy took his position at the line. His first arrow was nocked before the targets even started moving—professional, efficient, the kind of technique you got from years of training with one of the world's greatest archers.
The arrows flew. Each one found its mark with satisfying *thunk* sounds that echoed through the facility. Roy's form was textbook perfect—elbow high, smooth release, controlled breathing that spoke to serious meditation training or possibly just really good yoga classes.
Connor's combat mastery catalogued the technique automatically: military-grade precision marksmanship adapted for urban superhero operations, emphasis on reliability over innovation, defensive stance suggesting training against return fire.
Final score materialized on the range display: 94% accuracy, 2:17 completion time.
"Nice," Artemis said, sounding genuinely impressed. "Your technique is really clean. Where'd you train?"
"Around," Roy replied vaguely. "Family connections. Your turn."
Artemis stepped up to the line with the kind of casual confidence that comes from either extreme skill or complete delusion. Connor's probability matrices suggested the former.
Her first arrow was in flight before Roy had even finished stepping back.
Then her second.
Then her third.
Connor's enhanced vision tracked the trajectory patterns—she wasn't reacting to target movement. She was *anticipating* it. Reading the mechanical patterns and shooting where targets would be rather than where they were.
It was beautiful in the kind of terrifying, hyper-competent way that probably should've come with a warning label.
By the time she finished, Connor had filled approximately three mental notepads with tactical analysis and also possibly fallen a little bit in love with her technique despite being fully committed to M'gann and also not being the kind of person who fell in love with archery techniques.
Final score: 97% accuracy, 1:52 completion time.
The observation booth went silent except for M'gann's quiet, delighted "Oh *no*."
Down on the range, Roy was staring at the score display like it had personally betrayed him. His shoulders had gone from "threatened male ego" to "threatened male ego actively experiencing existential crisis."
"She beat him," Dick said unnecessarily. "By a significant margin."
"Roy's emotional signature just went through several stages of grief simultaneously," Connor reported. "We're currently somewhere between denial and bargaining."
"Does bargaining include violence?" M'gann asked with concern.
"Probability assessment suggests no immediate physical conflict," Connor replied. "But his identity is definitely taking damage. That score just challenged his fundamental understanding of his team value."
"His team value is way more than archery," M'gann protested.
"Yeah, but does *Roy* know that?" Dick countered. "Dude's entire self-concept is tied up in being the precision specialist. Having someone casually outperform him on day two is basically an existential nightmare."
Down on the range, Roy was attempting conversation with the desperate energy of someone trying to maintain dignity while everything crumbled.
"That was really good," he said carefully. "Your anticipatory targeting is impressive. Where'd you learn that?"
"Family training," Artemis replied, still completely missing the tension. "My father emphasized reading movement patterns and predicting trajectories rather than just reacting. Makes you faster if you're shooting where targets will be."
"I *know* how anticipatory targeting works," Roy snapped with an edge that made everyone in the observation booth wince in sympathetic embarrassment. "I've been doing this since I was *six*. I helped develop Green Arrow's advanced marksmanship protocols."
Connor felt M'gann's emotional signature shift to full concern. *Okay, now we intervene,* she transmitted. *Before Roy says something he regrets and Artemis realizes she accidentally started a war.*
"Oh, that's cool!" Artemis said with enthusiasm so genuine it was almost painful. "I'd love to compare notes about different training methodologies. My father's approach was pretty unconventional."
"Unconventional," Roy repeated flatly, like he was testing the word for hidden insults. "Right."
Dick was already moving toward the intercom. "Okay, cutting this off before we need team therapy." He activated the speaker. "Roy, Artemis, great training session! Really fantastic shooting. Let's take a break and transition to team coordination exercises."
Connor watched Roy's body language as he started packing up equipment with the kind of precise, controlled movements that screamed "I am definitely not having an emotional breakdown about archery."
Artemis organized her arrows with the same calm efficiency, apparently still not realizing she'd just inadvertently challenged Roy's entire reason for existing.
"This is a problem," Connor said.
"Yep," Dick agreed. "Roy's whole identity is wrapped up in being the best at something. Having another archer who might be *better* is threatening everything he thinks he contributes to this team."
"But Artemis doesn't even *realize* she's competing," M'gann added. "She thinks this is just normal training. Her emotional signature shows no competitive drive whatsoever. She's just... casually excellent at archery while Roy's over here having a crisis."
"Which probably makes it worse," Connor observed. "If she was openly competitive, he could engage with that. But she's just being good at stuff without treating it as a rivalry, which makes Roy's entire crisis look irrational even to himself."
Dick sighed the sigh of someone who'd been managing superhero interpersonal dynamics for way too long. "I'll talk to Roy. Connor, can you work with Artemis? Explain the weird male ego thing she just walked into?"
"I can try," Connor agreed. "Though my social skills are questionable at best."
"Your social skills are fine," M'gann assured him through their link. "You just treat human interaction like tactical operations, which is weird but effective."
"That's not a compliment."
"It absolutely is," M'gann replied warmly. "That's part of why I like you. You're weird in consistent, predictable ways."
Connor felt warmth at that despite the backhanded nature of the compliment. M'gann's ability to find his neurotic analytical tendencies endearing rather than off-putting was one of the things he appreciated most about their relationship.
Also she was gorgeous and telepathic and laughed at his terrible tactical humor, but mostly the acceptance thing.
"I'll go talk to Artemis," Connor said. "Dick, try to keep Roy from having a complete identity crisis?"
"No promises," Dick replied. "But I'll do my best."
---
**1030 HOURS - TACTICAL BRIEFING ROOM**
Connor found Artemis reviewing mission logs with the kind of focused intensity that suggested she was either genuinely interested in team operations or stress-reading to avoid thinking about social dynamics.
Probably the former, but Connor's enhanced empathy wasn't ruling out the latter.
"Hey," he said, settling into a chair across from her. "How you feeling about this morning's training?"
"Good," Artemis replied, looking up with a slight smile. "Roy's technique is really impressive. I picked up some useful variations watching his approach."
Connor's enhanced empathy confirmed what he'd already suspected—Artemis genuinely meant that. She actually *was* learning from Roy's technique and appreciating his skills. She had absolutely no idea Roy was currently somewhere in this facility having an existential crisis about his team value.
"Artemis, can I ask you something that might seem weird?"
She closed the mission log, giving him her full attention. "Sure. Weird questions seem pretty standard around here."
"Are you aware that Roy is feeling competitive with you about the archery thing?"
Artemis blinked. Her expression went from casual interest to genuine confusion in about half a second. "What? No. Why would he feel competitive? We're teammates. Training together is supposed to be collaborative."
Connor leaned back, trying to figure out how to explain male ego dynamics to someone who clearly had no framework for understanding them. "Roy's identity is significantly tied to being the team's precision specialist. Having another archer who's potentially better than him is challenging that identity in ways that are making him defensive."
"But I'm not *trying* to be better than him," Artemis protested. "I'm just doing my normal training. I wasn't comparing myself to Roy or trying to prove anything."
"I know," Connor assured her. "But Roy doesn't see it that way. From his perspective, you showed up and immediately demonstrated superior archery skills, which threatens his established role on the team."
Artemis was quiet for a moment, processing. Her emotional signature shifted from confusion to something like frustrated concern. "That's... I didn't mean to do that. Should I be *less good* at archery to make Roy comfortable?"
"God, no," Connor said firmly. "Don't ever diminish your abilities to manage someone else's insecurity. That's not fair to you and it wouldn't actually help Roy. But maybe be aware of the dynamic? Try not to accidentally make it worse?"
"How do I do that?" Artemis asked, and Connor heard genuine confusion in her voice. "I don't understand competitive male ego dynamics. My training focused on being excellent, not managing other people's feelings about my excellence."
Connor felt his enhanced consciousness recognize that this was actually a really good question—how *did* you navigate being exceptional at something when someone else on the team felt threatened by your competence?
"Maybe talk to Roy directly?" he suggested. "Acknowledge his skills, express interest in learning from him, make it clear you see him as a valuable teammate rather than a rival to surpass?"
"That's very diplomatic," Artemis observed. "You're good at this team psychology stuff. Is that part of your quantum-level consciousness thing?"
"Partially," Connor admitted. "But mostly it's just paying attention to people's emotional states and trying to understand what they need. M'gann's been helping me develop better emotional intelligence."
"Your girlfriend," Artemis said with a slight smile. "She seems really good at the whole understanding people thing. Must be the telepathy."
"The telepathy helps," Connor confirmed. "But M'gann's emotional intelligence is more than just reading minds. She actually *cares* about people's wellbeing and invests effort in understanding their perspectives. That's not something telepathy automatically provides."
"I'm terrible at that," Artemis admitted with surprising honesty. "Understanding people's emotional needs, navigating social dynamics. My training emphasized effectiveness over relationships. I can execute complex tactical operations, but I struggle with basic team bonding that apparently requires understanding male ego fragility."
Connor felt a spike of recognition—Artemis's struggle with social dynamics reminded him of his own early days with the team, back when he treated every interaction like a tactical problem to solve.
He still did that, actually. But now people found it endearing instead of weird.
Progress.
"Want some advice from someone who's also terrible at social dynamics but has been learning through determined effort and a girlfriend who's patient with neurotic analytical tendencies?"
"Absolutely," Artemis said with obvious relief.
"Focus on expressing genuine appreciation for people's specific skills rather than just general competence," Connor suggested. "Like with Roy—instead of just saying he's good at archery, mention specific techniques you noticed and appreciated. That shows you were paying attention to *his* approach rather than just measuring yourself against him."
Artemis nodded slowly. "That's actually really helpful. So instead of treating training as just my own skill development, I should actively recognize and acknowledge other team members' contributions?"
"Exactly. Though Artemis—" Connor leaned forward slightly. "You should also know that Roy's competitive response isn't entirely about you. He's dealing with his own identity questions about his role on a team with increasingly powerful members. Your arrival just happened to trigger those existing concerns."
"So I'm a catalyst for an underlying issue rather than the actual problem?"
"Pretty much," Connor confirmed. "Which means this situation requires patience and consistent positive interaction rather than immediate resolution. Roy needs time to recognize you're not a threat to his team position."
"Okay." Artemis's expression shifted to something more determined. "I can do patience and consistent positive interaction. That's basically a long-term tactical operation applied to interpersonal dynamics."
"Exactly," Connor agreed, pleased that Artemis was approaching this through a framework that made sense for her. "Social integration is just a tactical operation with different success metrics."
"You say that to M'gann?"
Connor smiled slightly. "M'gann tells me that treating social situations like tactical operations is part of my neurotic analytical nature that she finds endearing despite it being objectively weird. But it works for me, so that's what matters."
The door to the briefing room slid open and M'gann herself entered, carrying what looked like homemade cookies and wearing an expression that suggested she'd been listening to this entire conversation telepathically.
"Are we talking about Connor's adorable neurotic tendencies?" she asked cheerfully, setting the cookies on the table. "Because I have *stories*."
"Please don't," Connor said.
"Like how he created a probability matrix for our first kiss?" M'gann continued, ignoring him completely. "With seventeen different scenarios ranked by likelihood and optimal emotional impact?"
Artemis's eyebrows went up. "You *what*?"
"I was being thorough," Connor defended. "First kisses are high-stakes social interactions with significant relationship implications. Planning was appropriate."
"Planning was *neurotic*," M'gann corrected affectionately. "But also kind of sweet in a very Connor way." She turned to Artemis. "My point is, Connor's approach to social situations is weird, but it works. If tactical frameworks help you understand interpersonal dynamics, use tactical frameworks. Everyone's got their own process."
"Mine apparently involves accidentally threatening male egos through casual competence," Artemis said dryly.
"Welcome to being a woman in superhero work," M'gann replied. "It's like regular hero work but with more fragile male pride to navigate." She paused. "Also more people underestimating you, which can be tactically advantageous but is mostly just annoying."
"I've noticed that," Artemis agreed. "Do you deal with that a lot?"
"Constantly," M'gann confirmed. "I'm Martian, female, and I look young. People see me and think 'support role' or 'needs protecting.' Then I demonstrate I can read their minds, shapeshift, and lift a car, and suddenly they're all surprised Pikachu face."
"How do you handle it?"
"Mostly I just keep being excellent at things until people adjust their expectations," M'gann said with a shrug. "And I have a boyfriend with quantum-level consciousness who never underestimated me and thinks my abilities are cool." She smiled at Connor. "That helps."
Connor felt warmth at the casual affection in M'gann's voice. "Your abilities *are* cool. Anyone who underestimates you is tactically incompetent."
"See?" M'gann said to Artemis. "Neurotic tactical analysis, but make it romantic."
Artemis laughed, and Connor felt some of the tension from earlier dissolve. This was good—Artemis connecting with M'gann, getting female perspective on team dynamics, building social support structures beyond just tactical relationships.
"Cookie?" M'gann offered, pushing the plate forward.
"Are these safe for humans?" Artemis asked, eyeing the cookies with reasonable suspicion given M'gann's Martian origin.
"Completely safe," M'gann assured her. "I've been practicing Earth baking. Connor's my test subject."
"I've survived so far," Connor confirmed. "Though there was an incident with Martian spices that gave me quantum visions for about an hour."
"That was *one time*," M'gann protested. "And you said the visions were 'interesting from a consciousness expansion perspective.'"
"They were," Connor agreed. "But also mildly terrifying and not something I want to repeat."
Artemis took a cookie cautiously. "You two are weird together."
"Thank you," they said in unison.
---
**1300 HOURS - COMMON AREA LUNCH**
The team gathered for lunch with the usual controlled chaos that happened when you put seven teenagers with superpowers in one room and expected them to share food.
Wally had ordered enough Chinese food to feed a small army, which for him was probably just lunch. M'gann had supplemented with vegetables because she'd appointed herself the team's unofficial nutrition monitor. Kara had contributed some kind of Kryptonian fruit that looked vaguely threatening but supposedly tasted good.
Connor remained skeptical about the fruit but wasn't willing to say that out loud because Kara's feelings were easily hurt and making a Kryptonian cry seemed like poor tactical planning.
Roy sat at one end of the table, his body language screaming "I am definitely not still thinking about this morning's archery training." Artemis had strategically positioned herself near M'gann, apparently trying to give Roy space while still participating in the team social gathering.
"So Artemis," Wally said with his characteristic inability to let comfortable silence exist, "you've been here two days. First impressions of our magnificent team and equally magnificent headquarters?"
"It's great," Artemis replied honestly. "Way better than solo operations. Everyone's been really welcoming."
"Everyone except Roy, apparently," Wally said with the social grace of a tactical nuclear weapon. "Dude, you've been sulking since training this morning. What's up?"
Roy's expression suggested he would rather fight Darkseid than discuss his feelings about archery. "I'm not sulking. I'm focused on tactical preparation."
"You're absolutely sulking," Wally corrected with cheerful obliviousness. "You've been doing that thing where you're very carefully not looking at Artemis while also paying attention to everything she says. That's textbook sulking behavior."
"Wally," Dick said with the tone of someone who'd been managing Wally's social disasters for years, "maybe we don't need to analyze Roy's emotional state during lunch?"
"Why not?" Wally protested, loading his plate with approximately three pounds of lo mein. "Emotional processing is important for team cohesion. Plus if Roy's got a problem with Artemis being here, we should address it openly."
"I don't have a problem with Artemis being here," Roy said carefully. "I have concerns about team role redundancy and optimal resource allocation."
"You're upset that I'm also an archer," Artemis translated with surprising directness. "Roy, I'm not trying to replace you or compete for team position. We can both be archers. That's allowed."
Connor watched Roy's micro-expressions carefully, noting the tension in his jaw, the defensive positioning of his shoulders. This was about to either get better or significantly worse.
"It's not about being *allowed*," Roy replied, frustration finally breaking through his diplomatic restraint. "It's about team composition optimization. Two archers is inefficient when we could have different specializations providing better tactical coverage."
"Or," Kara interjected with surprising tactical insight, "two archers is excellent redundancy providing backup if one is incapacitated. Roy, multiple team members with similar skills isn't a weakness—it's operational resilience."
She bit into her threatening Kryptonian fruit with a decisive crunch, like she was making a point about resilience through agricultural metaphor.
"Plus," M'gann added gently, "you and Artemis have very different approach styles. Roy's precision marksmanship is military-influenced tactical operations. Artemis's technique shows different training background with emphasis on anticipatory targeting. Those aren't redundant—they're complementary."
Roy was quiet, clearly processing the team's response. Connor watched his emotional signature shift through several states—defensive frustration, reluctant consideration, gradual acceptance that maybe his competitive response wasn't entirely rational.
"I just—" Roy stopped, struggling with something. His hands were clenched on the table. "I've been the team's precision specialist since formation. That's my role, my contribution that's specifically valuable. Having someone else who does it better makes me question what I'm bringing to the team that's unique."
The table went quiet.
Connor felt the emotional weight of Roy's admission—the vulnerability in acknowledging insecurity, the fear that he was replaceable, the fundamental human need to feel valuable to your chosen family.
"Roy," Dick said firmly, leaning forward with the kind of intense sincerity that made his leadership style effective, "you bring Roy Harper. Which includes tactical thinking, leadership during field operations, equipment innovation, and yes, excellent archery skills. But your value isn't just technical capabilities—it's your judgment, your experience, your ability to execute under pressure. Those things don't become less valuable because Artemis is also a skilled archer."
Artemis looked uncomfortable being the center of this conversation. "For what it's worth, I think Roy's technique is really impressive. I'd like to learn from him. I'm not trying to surpass him or take his position. I'm just trying to integrate and contribute."
Wally, who'd been uncharacteristically quiet during the serious conversation, suddenly grinned with the expression of someone about to say something either brilliant or catastrophically stupid.
"You know what would be hilarious?" he announced. "If you two stopped competing and just accepted that you're both really good at shooting things with pointy sticks. Roy can be 'tactical precision archer' and Artemis can be 'anticipatory targeting archer' and we can all move on with our lives."
"They're *arrows*, not pointy sticks," Roy corrected automatically, then seemed to realize he was being defensive about semantics. "But... yeah. Okay. Point taken. I'm being weird about this."
"You're being *human* about this," Kara said warmly, her Kryptonian accent making the word sound more profound. "Roy, having complicated feelings about team changes is normal. Just try not to let those feelings create problems with Artemis when she's legitimately not doing anything wrong."
Connor watched Roy's emotional signature shift toward something approaching acceptance. Not complete resolution—this would take time and consistent positive interaction—but movement in the right direction.
"Artemis," Roy said carefully, like he was testing out vulnerable honesty and seeing how it felt, "sorry for being weird about the archery thing. You're right that we can both be archers. And honestly, your anticipatory targeting is genuinely impressive. I'd actually like to learn that technique if you're willing to share."
"Absolutely," Artemis agreed with obvious relief. "And Roy, your tactical precision and equipment innovation is really sophisticated. I'd love to learn from your approach too."
"See?" Wally announced triumphantly, gesturing with a spring roll. "Problem solved through open communication and acknowledgment of mutual excellence. We're all very emotionally healthy and well-adjusted."
"Wally," M'gann pointed out, "you once vibrated through a wall because you were too impatient to wait for a door to open. Your emotional health is questionable at best."
"That was *efficient navigation*, not emotional dysfunction," Wally protested through a mouthful of lo mein. "Completely different things."
"You also once ate an entire wedding cake because you were nervous about a mission," Kara added helpfully.
"I was *carb-loading*," Wally defended. "Speedsters need excessive calories."
"It was a decorative cake made of foam," Dick said flatly.
The table erupted in laughter, and Connor felt the team's emotional signatures shift toward genuine connection and affection. This was good—tension dissolving through shared humor, building bonds through gentle mockery of Wally's various disasters.
Roy and Artemis were both smiling now, the competitive dynamic not completely disappeared but significantly reduced.
Connor caught M'gann's eye across the table and felt her warmth through their telepathic link.
*You did good helping Artemis understand the dynamic,* she transmitted. *That conversation with Roy went better than your probability assessments predicted.*
*Team psychology is complicated,* Connor replied. *But manageable with patience and honest communication. Who knew social dynamics could be addressed through the same principles as tactical operations?*
*Everyone except you, because you treat everything like a tactical operation requiring strategic planning,* M'gann responded with affectionate amusement.
*It's my process,* Connor defended. *Tactical frameworks make the world comprehensible. Including interpersonal dynamics that would otherwise be incomprehensible chaos.*
*I know,* M'gann assured him warmly. *That's part of why I like you. Your neurotic need to systematize everything is endearing.*
Connor felt warmth at M'gann's acceptance, the comfortable intimacy of having someone who understood his weird analytical nature and liked him anyway.
"Connor," Wally said suddenly, pulling Connor's attention back to the physical conversation, "why do you have that weird smile? Are you having telepathic conversation with M'gann? That's rude. Share with the class."
"We're not having a conversation," Connor said. "We're having private telepathic communication that's none of your business."
"That's literally the definition of a conversation," Wally countered.
"It's a *private* conversation," M'gann clarified. "Emphasis on private. Not everything is for public consumption, Wally."
"Fine, keep your secret telepathic romance communication," Wally grumbled. "But if you're planning something cool, I want in."
"We're not planning anything," Connor assured him. "We're just existing in comfortable proximity while maintaining mental connection."
"That's the most Connor way to describe a relationship I've ever heard," Dick observed. "Dude, normal people say 'we're just talking.'"
"I'm not normal people," Connor replied. "I have quantum-level consciousness and treat social situations like tactical operations. That's been established."
"Fair point," Dick conceded.
The lunch continued with comfortable chaos—Wally stealing food from everyone's plates at super-speed, Kara trying to convince people to try her threatening fruit, M'gann supplementing everyone's meals with vegetables that kept mysteriously appearing on their plates through subtle telekinesis.
Connor watched Roy and Artemis engage in cautious but genuine conversation about archery technique, building tentative collaborative dynamic. Not perfect—they still had underlying competitive friction—but progress.
This team integration thing was actually working.
Slowly, messily, with occasional emotional disasters requiring intervention, but working.
Connor's tactical precognition generated probability assessments for future team dynamics, most of which looked surprisingly positive with reasonable confidence intervals.
His consciousness was learning that human relationships, while complex and often illogical, followed patterns that could be understood and even predicted with sufficient observation and genuine care about people's wellbeing.
It was almost like treating interpersonal dynamics as tactical operations with different success metrics actually *worked*.
Who knew.
(M'gann knew. She'd been telling him that for months. But Connor preferred to think he'd discovered it himself through careful analysis.)
---
**DAY 3 - 1445 HOURS - TRAINING FACILITY**
Connor was reviewing tactical scenarios when shouting from the training facility triggered his threat assessment protocols.
Not enemy attack shouting. Not emergency shouting.
*Argument* shouting.
Specifically, Artemis and Wally shouting at each other with the kind of escalating intensity that suggested this was about to become a whole thing.
Connor's tactical precognition immediately generated concerning probability branches requiring immediate intervention.
He arrived at the training facility to find Artemis and Wally facing off with aggressive body language, both clearly thirty seconds from either physical confrontation or saying something they'd regret.
Possibly both.
"—completely irresponsible!" Artemis was saying, her face flushed with frustration. "You can't just speed through tactical exercises ignoring team coordination and expect everyone else to adapt to your chaos!"
"My 'chaos' saved your ass twice during that scenario!" Wally shot back, vibrating slightly with agitation in the way he did when his emotions spiked. "Maybe if you weren't so obsessed with following rigid tactical protocols, you'd recognize that speed creates opportunities normal people can't even perceive!"
"*Normal* people?" Artemis's voice went dangerously quiet. "Did you just call me *normal* like it's an insult? Wally, not everyone needs super-speed to be effective. Some of us achieve results through skill and planning instead of just running really fast and hoping problems solve themselves."
"Oh that's *rich* coming from someone who thinks being good at archery makes her a tactical genius," Wally retorted. "Artemis, you've been here three days and you're already trying to tell everyone how to run operations like you invented superhero tactics."
Connor felt his tactical analysis recognize this was escalating rapidly beyond productive disagreement into personal attack territory.
Time for intervention before this became permanent team damage.
"Hey," Connor said firmly, stepping between them with deliberate calm. His physical presence—six-foot-four of Kryptonian-human hybrid—provided natural deterrent to continued conflict. "Both of you take a breath and explain what actually happened during the scenario that triggered this argument."
They both started talking simultaneously, which Connor's enhanced hearing could track individually but which definitely wasn't helping resolve anything.
"One at a time," Connor said. "Wally first."
Wally took a visible breath, clearly trying to organize his frustration into coherent explanation. "We were running a coordinated assault scenario. Artemis wanted to follow rigid approach pattern with specific timing for each team member. I saw an opportunity for speed-based flanking that would achieve the objective faster, so I executed it. Objective achieved successfully. But apparently that was 'irresponsible tactical deviation' because I didn't follow Artemis's preferred protocol."
"Your 'preferred protocol' was team coordination strategy that accounted for everyone's capabilities," Artemis countered. "Wally's flanking maneuver was effective, but it left me without cover and required me to improvise response to a situation he created without communication or coordination. That's not teamwork—that's Wally doing whatever he wants and expecting everyone else to adapt."
Connor processed both perspectives through his tactical analysis matrices. They were both partially right and partially wrong in ways that suggested deeper personality friction rather than just tactical disagreement.
"Okay," Connor said carefully, "what I'm hearing is that Wally values speed and opportunistic flexibility while Artemis values coordinated planning and team synchronization. Those are both legitimate approaches, but they require communication to work together effectively."
"I *tried* to communicate," Wally protested. "I called out my flanking maneuver as I was executing it."
"You announced what you were already doing," Artemis corrected sharply. "That's not the same as coordinating before action. Communication requires giving people opportunity to acknowledge and adapt to your plans, not just narrating your actions as you perform them."
"In combat, opportunities close in seconds," Wally argued, his vibration increasing slightly. "If I wait for everyone to discuss and approve every tactical decision, the opportunity is gone. Speed requires making decisions and executing them faster than normal communication allows."
"Then maybe you need to develop better predictive coordination," Artemis suggested with an edge in her voice. "Roy and Connor can execute dynamic tactical operations while maintaining team awareness. Your speed doesn't excuse treating team members like obstacles to navigate around rather than allies to coordinate with."
Connor felt his enhanced empathy detect something underneath the tactical disagreement—personality friction between Wally's chaotic enthusiasm and Artemis's structured approach creating conflict that was using tactical disagreement as a proxy for deeper incompatibility.
"Okay, new approach," Connor announced, crossing his arms. "Let's acknowledge that this isn't actually about tactical philosophy. Wally, Artemis—you two just fundamentally approach situations differently and that friction is manifesting as disagreement about team coordination."
"I don't have fundamental friction with Artemis," Wally protested, though his continued vibrating suggested otherwise. "I barely know her. We've worked together for three days."
"And in those three days, you've butted heads in almost every joint training exercise," Connor pointed out. "Not because either of you is wrong, but because your natural approaches create conflict. Wally works on instinct and improvisation. Artemis works on planning and structure. Those aren't compatible without explicit effort to coordinate."
"So what do we do about it?" Artemis asked, frustration evident in every line of her body. "I can't fundamentally change my approach to operations, and I'm assuming Wally can't either. Does that mean we just don't work together?"
"It means you need to develop explicit coordination protocols that account for your different approaches," Connor suggested. "Wally, you need to communicate your tactical impulses even if you're executing them immediately. Give Artemis a heads-up about what you're planning so she can adapt. Artemis, you need to build flexibility into your planning that allows for Wally's opportunistic deviations."
They were both quiet, processing this with varying degrees of acceptance.
"I can try to communicate faster," Wally offered reluctantly. "Call out my tactical impulses as they're forming rather than just announcing what I'm already doing."
"And I can build more flexibility into coordination protocols," Artemis agreed with matching reluctance. "Create contingency branches that allow for speed-based opportunism."
"Good," Connor said, satisfied that they were at least moving toward resolution. "Now both of you apologize for the personal attacks and commit to working on coordination rather than just arguing about whose approach is right."
"Sorry for calling you a control freak," Wally muttered.
"Sorry for suggesting your speed makes you tactically irresponsible," Artemis replied with equal lack of grace.
Connor felt his tactical analysis note that these were not particularly heartfelt apologies, but they were at least acknowledgment of conflict and minimal commitment to resolution.
Progress, even if imperfect.
"Are we done fighting?" Connor asked.
"For now," Wally said.
"Unless he does something else impulsive and irresponsible," Artemis added.
"Or unless she tries to micromanage my tactical decisions again," Wally shot back.
Connor resisted the urge to use his combat mastery to knock their heads together. "Okay, you're both still being defensive. How about we run another scenario but this time I'll coordinate communication between you two? Serve as translator for your different approaches until you develop better natural coordination?"
"That could work," Artemis agreed cautiously.
"I guess," Wally said without enthusiasm.
They proceeded to run a coordinated scenario with Connor serving as communication bridge—translating Wally's impulsive tactical decisions into advance warning for Artemis, and building Artemis's structured protocols into a framework that allowed space for Wally's speed-based opportunism.
The execution was significantly smoother. Not perfect—they still had friction points where their approaches clashed—but manageable with Connor providing real-time coordination translation.
"See?" Connor said once the scenario concluded successfully. "You can work together effectively when you communicate and account for different approaches. The friction comes from expecting natural synchronization when your tactical philosophies are fundamentally incompatible without explicit coordination effort."
"I still think his approach is chaotic," Artemis said, though her tone was less hostile now.
"And I still think her approach is overly rigid," Wally added, but he was almost smiling.
"But you can both acknowledge those differences and work around them," Connor suggested hopefully.
"Yeah, okay," Wally agreed. "I suppose Artemis isn't terrible to work with when she's not trying to plan every microsecond of operations."
"And Wally's actually pretty effective when he communicates his tactical impulses instead of just executing them and expecting everyone to adapt instantly," Artemis admitted.
Connor felt his enhanced empathy detect grudging mutual respect forming underneath the surface friction. They weren't going to be best friends—their personalities were too different—but they were developing a working relationship that acknowledged differences rather than fighting about them.
"You know what this reminds me of?" M'gann's voice came from the observation booth, where she'd apparently been watching the whole situation develop.
Connor's precognition immediately pinged warning signals. M'gann's tone carried that specific quality of mischievous insight that usually preceded her making observations people didn't want to hear.
"Those movies where two people who argue constantly eventually realize they have feelings for each other," M'gann continued cheerfully, her red hair visible through the observation window as she leaned forward with obvious delight.
"*NO*," both Wally and Artemis said simultaneously with matching horror.
"We're not—" Wally started, vibrating with what Connor's empathy read as genuine alarm.
"Absolutely not—" Artemis continued, her face flushing.
"That's disgusting," they concluded in unison, then looked at each other with surprise that they'd just agreed about something for the first time.
Connor felt his tactical precognition suddenly generate concerning probability assessments about Wally and Artemis's relationship trajectory that his consciousness immediately tried to dismiss because that was way too complicated to think about.
Except his precognition was rarely wrong about interpersonal dynamics.
Which was concerning.
Very concerning.
"Just saying," M'gann added, now fully leaning over the observation booth railing with the expression of someone thoroughly enjoying the chaos she was creating, "antagonistic banter is often a precursor to romantic development in human social dynamics. I read about it in psychology texts. There's this whole thing called 'belligerent sexual tension' that—"
"M'gann," Connor interrupted firmly, "please stop analyzing team relationships through psychology research. You're making people uncomfortable."
"And she's *wrong*," Wally added quickly. Too quickly. "There's no tension. Sexual or otherwise. Just tactical disagreement between professionals."
"Exactly," Artemis agreed with matching quickness. "Professional disagreement. Nothing else. Why would there be anything else? There isn't anything else."
Connor watched them both carefully not look at each other while simultaneously maintaining defensive body language that suggested M'gann's observation had hit an uncomfortable nerve.
His tactical precognition pinged softly with probability assessments he really didn't want to examine too closely.
"I'm definitely not wrong," M'gann said with satisfaction, settling back into the observation booth. "But I'll stop making people uncomfortable. For now."
"Thank you," Connor said with relief.
"Though for the record," M'gann added, "my psychological analysis also suggests that the more vehemently people deny romantic tension, the more likely it actually exists. It's called 'reaction formation' and it's a classic defense mechanism."
"M'GANN," Connor, Wally, and Artemis said in unison.
"Okay, okay, I'm done," M'gann laughed. "But Connor, you should check your precognition matrices. I bet they're showing interesting probability branches right about now."
Connor absolutely did not want to check his precognition matrices because he suspected M'gann was right and that was a level of interpersonal complexity he was not prepared to navigate.
"My precognition is none of your business," Connor said.
"Your precognition is showing Wally and Artemis relationship development, isn't it?" M'gann said with delight.
"I'm not answering that."
"That's a yes," M'gann concluded triumphantly. "Connor, your inability to lie effectively is one of your most endearing qualities."
Down on the training floor, Wally and Artemis were now standing as far apart as physically possible while still technically being in the same room.
"This is awkward," Wally announced to no one in particular.
"Very awkward," Artemis agreed, examining her arrows with intense focus.
"We should probably clear the air about the whole—" Wally gestured vaguely. "Whatever M'gann was suggesting. Which is definitely not happening."
"Definitely not," Artemis confirmed. "You're annoying and impulsive and treat tactical planning like a suggestion rather than a requirement."
"And you're controlling and rigid and act like the only valid approach to operations is your meticulously planned version," Wally countered.
"Exactly," Artemis said. "We're completely incompatible."
"Totally incompatible," Wally agreed.
They both nodded firmly, having apparently convinced themselves through aggressive agreement about their incompatibility.
Connor's precognition pinged with approximately seventeen different probability branches suggesting that this "we're completely incompatible" conversation was going to age poorly.
"Are you two done having whatever that was?" Connor asked.
"Yes," they said in unison, then looked annoyed that they'd synchronized again.
"Great," Connor said, deciding that he was done managing interpersonal disasters for the day. "Wally, Artemis, you're both dismissed from training. Go... process your definitely-not-romantic professional disagreement separately."
"It's not romantic," Wally protested.
"I know," Connor said, even though his precognition was suggesting otherwise. "Go anyway."
They both left quickly, still carefully not looking at each other.
Connor waited until they were gone, then looked up at the observation booth where M'gann was still watching with obvious amusement.
"You just made everything more complicated," Connor said.
"I pointed out existing complexity," M'gann corrected, floating down from the booth with her usual grace. "There's a difference."
"My precognition is showing concerning probability branches," Connor admitted.
"Concerning or interesting?" M'gann asked, landing next to him.
"Both," Connor replied. "M'gann, if Wally and Artemis actually develop romantic feelings for each other, that's going to create significant team dynamic complications."
"Or it could create stronger team bonds," M'gann suggested. "Connor, you can't prevent relationship development through tactical planning. People have feelings. Those feelings create complications. That's part of team dynamics."
"I don't like uncontrolled variables in team operations," Connor said.
"I know," M'gann replied warmly, taking his hand. "But relationships are inherently uncontrolled variables. You can't optimize human connection through probability matrices and tactical frameworks."
"I can try," Connor said stubbornly.
"You can try," M'gann agreed with affectionate exasperation. "But Connor, sometimes you just have to let people figure things out without intervention. Even if it's messy."
Connor felt his tactical consciousness struggle with that concept. Letting things be messy went against every instinct his enhanced awareness provided.
But M'gann was right—some things couldn't be optimized through analysis.
Some things just had to unfold naturally, even if his precognition showed concerning probability branches.
"I hate relationship complexity," Connor muttered.
"No you don't," M'gann said, squeezing his hand. "You hate not being able to control relationship complexity. There's a difference."
"That's what I said."
"It really isn't," M'gann replied, pulling him toward the exit. "Come on. Let's get lunch and let Wally and Artemis process their feelings without your neurotic analytical observation."
"I don't neurologically observe—"
"Connor," M'gann interrupted gently, "you're already running probability assessments about their relationship trajectory. I can feel it through our link."
Connor felt caught out, his tactical matrices still generating concerning predictions about Wally and Artemis's interpersonal dynamics.
"It's my process," he defended weakly.
"I know," M'gann assured him. "And it's endearing in a very you way. But maybe let them figure it out without precognitive intervention?"
"Fine," Connor agreed reluctantly. "But when this creates team complications, I'm implementing new coordination protocols."
"Of course you are," M'gann said warmly. "You wouldn't be you if you didn't respond to interpersonal complexity with tactical frameworks."
They left the training facility together, Connor's consciousness still generating probability branches he was trying not to examine too closely.
His precognition showed interesting developments ahead for team dynamics.
Interesting, complicated, potentially chaotic developments that would absolutely require tactical coordination protocols to manage effectively.
But also, his precognition suggested, developments that would ultimately strengthen team bonds in ways that rigid planning couldn't achieve.
Connor supposed he could accept that.
Eventually.
After implementing appropriate coordination protocols.
---
**1730 HOURS - COMMON AREA**
The team gathered for dinner with Dick at the head of the table looking like someone who'd spent the day managing teenage superhero drama and was reconsidering his life choices.
"Okay," Dick announced, "before we eat, let's do a quick check-in about today's training. Any concerns, conflicts, or issues we need to address as a team?"
Silence.
Everyone very carefully examined their food with intense focus.
"Nobody?" Dick pressed. "Nothing to discuss about any arguments, confrontations, or possibly romantic tensions that M'gann might have pointed out?"
"Nope," Wally said quickly.
"Nothing to report," Artemis agreed.
"I didn't observe any concerning dynamics," Roy added, which was a lie because he'd definitely heard the shouting from wherever he'd been training.
"Everything's fine," Kara contributed helpfully.
Dick looked at Connor with the expression of someone seeking honest assessment from his most analytical team member.
Connor felt M'gann's warning through their telepathic link—*Don't make it worse by providing detailed tactical analysis of interpersonal dynamics.*
"Team integration is proceeding within acceptable parameters," Connor said carefully. "Some personality friction requiring coordination development, but nothing outside normal range for superhero team formation."
Dick studied him for a long moment. "Connor, that's the most diplomatic non-answer I've ever heard from you."
"I'm developing better social skills," Connor replied.
"You're developing better evasion skills," Dick corrected. "But fine. If everyone says everything's fine, I'll trust that." He paused meaningfully. "Though if things become not-fine, we address them immediately rather than letting them fester. Clear?"
"Clear," the team chorused.
Dinner proceeded with careful normalcy—Wally eating enough for four people, Kara offering more threatening fruit that everyone politely declined, M'gann ensuring vegetables appeared on everyone's plates through subtle telekinesis.
Connor watched Wally and Artemis sit on opposite ends of the table, still carefully not looking at each other.
His precognition pinged softly with probability assessments showing this dynamic resolving in approximately 94 different ways, most of which involved significant romantic complications.
M'gann squeezed his hand under the table. *Stop analyzing,* she transmitted warmly. *Just let it happen.*
*I don't know how to "just let things happen,"* Connor replied. *That's not how my consciousness works.*
*I know,* M'gann assured him. *But you're learning. Slowly. With extensive telepathic support.*
*Your support is appreciated,* Connor transmitted.
*I know,* M'gann replied with affection. *That's why I provide it.*
Connor felt warmth at M'gann's presence, her acceptance of his analytical nature, her patience with his need to systematize everything including interpersonal dynamics that refused to be systematized.
Across the table, Wally made a joke that made Artemis laugh despite herself.
Connor's precognition pinged with updated probability assessments.
He firmly told his precognition to shut up.
Some things were better faced when they actually happened rather than worrying about them in advance.
Even if his quantum-level consciousness really wanted to run probability matrices about potential romantic complications affecting team tactical coordination.
M'gann was teaching him to let things be messy.
It was a difficult lesson for someone with his particular neurological structure.
But he was learning.
Slowly.
With extensive telepathic support and a girlfriend who found his neurotic tendencies endearing rather than exhausting.
Team integration was proceeding.
Messily, chaotically, with concerning romantic probability branches and interpersonal complications requiring coordination protocols.
But proceeding.
And Connor supposed that was what mattered.
Even if his tactical consciousness really wished human relationships came with more predictable operational parameters.
---
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