When he realizes that she is dating Conner, something inside of him breaks.

It wasn't, Wally realizes, that he was so incredibly deeply in love with her that he could never see her with another male. He understands, even though it hurts, that people fall in love with each other, and he understands that no one falls in love with him (it's just a fact of life, he's starting to think. It's just unspoken that he is not to be attractive to the opposite sex, not to have a girl blush when she talks to him or lean in closer to whisper or lightly touch his arm while laughing at a joke that was horribly unfunny).

He's glad that she found someone that really, truly seems to like her.

No, he thinks, it's not that she's in love. It has nothing to do with the way she looks at him, the way that she giggles when Conner grunts or knits her eyebrows together when he storms off, again, for the umpteenth time this week at another allusion to Superman. It's got nothing to do with her flirtatious smile that he had no idea existed until he saw her flash it to Conner one day.

No.

It's the fact that when he sees her, when he really looks at her, he sees someone so beautiful and smart and strong, someone who can take care of herself and take care of others, too. Someone who isn't afraid to be girly, like Artemis, someone who isn't afraid to let others know that she can handle herself. It's that he thinks about her, a lot, thinks about why he likes her and wonders what it all means.

It's that she can be a little bit odd, but that's okay. Because Wally is a little odd himself, and he doesn't care that sometimes she hits herself on the head or grows a third arm or burns the cookies. That just makes her all the more likeable, for him. It's those things, those strange little things, that really make him see her for who she is, not just some pretty face (not that he'd ever let her know he's watching, because he's not supposed to be observant. He's just supposed to chase anything that moves, any girl that looks his way).

That they're friends. Kind of. Not great friends, but friends nonetheless. They have things in common, like science (M'gann is interested in all things science related, because so much on Earth is different from what has been developed on Mars. And to him, just learning is fascinating, and learning from her just makes it better, so much better), music, practical jokes, and so much more, he's sure, if only she would talk to him more. If only he could talk to her without making some ridiculous comment.

That his heart races when he looks at her. That's new. (His heart is usually racing but this is the first time it's noticeable, the first time he gets a real reaction from seeing a girl.)

And like the scholar he is, or wants to be, Wally can't let this fascination with M'gann, with the girl he so stupidly (and he realizes it seconds after he says it and can't take it back so he plays it off, always pretending) calls sugar and beautiful and all other nicknames in the book, go away. He researches it, wonders at it, learns the signs of flirting and body language, over-analyzes their every interaction… He reads and wonders if it applies to Martians, too, because M'gann does none of this (even though he does all of it, he realizes, and feels like an open book).

Or at least, he thought she did none of it until he saw her with Conner. Saw her leaning toward him, saw Conner's chest focused on her, saw her tuck a strand behind her ear while he brushed invisible specks off of his black shirt, saw them both blush and stare and look away, saw them mimic each other's movements.

He realized, then, after seeing this, that it's not that she likes Conner that hurts the most. He's happy for her, he really is.

It's the fact that when he looks at her, he sees someone he really feels something for, but when she looks at him, all she sees is a cute, if somewhat annoying, dorky, and crazy little brother.

That's what breaks him.

The look in her eye, the tilt of her head as she smiles at his lame attempts to woo her, the little laugh she gives when he says something that he doesn't mean but has to say because the words he wants to say are too hard or too much for him; he cannot let them out because, even though he will not admit it, he is scared of the rejection.

His fear hurts. Her pity hurts. His (again, once more, of course it is, how could it not be) unrequited love hurts.

And even though it hurts, he will live.

He has to, right?