Conner sat for a long time.

It's not that he thought it was wrong to wear skirts, but Superman never did. He didn't have a problem with M'gann switching between pronouns occasionally, but he was Superboy. He was supposed to be like Superman in every way, and if he couldn't match him in powers or optimism, he should at least match him in identity and presentation.

He gripped fistfuls of the torn skirt tightly.

He wanted to be like Superman, he always had, but why did have to feel so superficial? Why did it feel like, if he peeled away his skin, he'd find he was nothing like Superman at all? Why couldn't he feel that connection people supposedly felt around people of their own race?

He was the man's clone, why could he not even feel solidarity or truth in their barely-existent relationship?

Why couldn't he feel the energy that seemed to course through every boy and man in his life?

He'd wondered briefly about women... surely women had their own inner forces that, just like the men's, he probably wouldn't be able to understand either.

What was he? He was not man, just a clone of one, and he certainly couldn't commit to femininity and give up the only connection to this reality he had: Superman.

He buried his face in his hands, pressing down hard on his eyelids until he saw a dizzying kaleidoscope of colour.

Maybe he wasn't meant for this world.

M'gann's last note lay beside him on the floor. He hadn't had the bravery to leave-- or even unlock-- his closet yet.

He smacked himself in the head for being such a coward. 

They lived together and he'd have to see her eventually, why was he stalling? M'gann hadn't seemed disgusted by him, she hadn't laughed at him, she hadn't threatened him either, so why was he so afraid to face her?

He was ashamed.

He was so deeply ashamed to have been caught with all his walls down.

He couldn't believe he'd allowed himself the lapse in security; from this point forward he would have no more moments of earnest vulnerability.

M'gann's gentle footfalls padded down the hallway; unfortunately they continued past her door and up to his.

"Uhm, Conner?" She asked softly, knowing he could hear her whisper, even through the thick door. "I have scissors."

After several seconds Conner braced himself against the wall, standing, and suddenly became aware of what a mess he looked. He looked ridiculous: squeezed into a far-too-small cheer uniform with his tee shirt and boxers and socks, mascara still smeared in dark rings around his eyes.

As soon as he was upright the sensor activated and the door whooshed back into the wall.

Conner slumped there, eyes quivering and dilating from the sudden flood of light.

M'gann stared up at him, the kitchen scissors clutched in her hand.

Conner looked away. It was too hard to look her in the face.

M'gann stepped forwards slowly, probably monitoring his emotional levels. Conner tried to slow his heart rate and gave her a little nod of consent.

She reached out, fingers bushing his stomach as she slipped the blades around the skirt hem.

"Are you going to be in trouble?" Conner asked, a little more shakily than he would've liked.

"We already paid for the uniform," She assured, delicately snipping the stretchy fabric down the middle until the thing was loose enough for Conner to shimmy out of. "There we go, is that better?"

Conner reached up, covering his face, though when he peaked through his fingers he was M'gann was still watching him, eyebrows pulled up in concern. 

"Sorry." He muttered, hoping that was what she wanted.

"Conner, is it okay if I ask why?"

He wanted to say no; he wanted to tell her that it was none of her business and lock the door again. Canary's voice echoed around his skull, telling him to slow down and think. It was M'gann's dress he'd ruined after all; he wouldn't like it if someone invaded his space and touched his things.

"I just wanted to try it," he murmured lowly. "you seem to like it, and I..." He paused, not actually wanting to admit his envy. "...I think I might be more than a boy."

"Like how I'm more than a girl?"

Conner nodded, shame flooding his stomach. He felt himself getting all red and worked up again. "Yeah, I guess."

"That's great! we should tell everyone!"

"No!" Conner exclaimed. "No... not yet."

"Why not?"

He didn't want them to criticize him or laugh at him, he didn't want to be treated worse than he already was, he didn't want to feel like more of an outcast than he was. 

"I'm not ready," he said.

"Hey, hey, that's okay," M'gann assured. "We can keep it our secret for as long as you want."

"But..." Conner's lip almost trembled. "The cameras caught me. If the league looks at that footage they'll all know!"

M'gann thought it over.

"Okay... Would you be okay telling Kaldur? I think we should ask him for help."

"No!"

"I mean, would you rather explain to Red Tornado why we need to delete the footage?" She asked.

Conner shook his head. Even though Tornado was easier to approach for him than most of the league, it was just too embarrassing to even consider.

Kaldur sat with Conner in one of the washrooms for a long time, it was the only place they knew had no cameras, he nodded occasionally and offered encouraging words as Conner (now fully clothes again) explained the situation. M'gann stood just outside the door as lookout. The team leader didn't react when Conner mentioned the skirt or the makeup, he didn't shout or shame him, he just tried to sooth Conner's distress, and asked him to keep explaining.

When he finished his panicky, patched-together story Kaldur reached out, stroking his shoulder.

"Thank you for trusting me with this," he said gently. "If you aren't ready to share this with the Justice League than we must act quick before duplicates of the files are sent to the watchtower."

"But how?"

"M'gann?" Kaldur called.

"Hmm?" They rounded into the bathroom. "What's up?"

"Go find Red Tornado. Tell him that you took a shower after cheer and didn't bring a towel with you."

She caught on. "So, I just say I had to run back to my room naked, and ask him to delete the hallway camera's footage from that hour! Kaldur, you're a genius!"

He half-smiled at the exaggeration, turning back to Conner. "Where is the skirt?"

"In my room still."

"Then remove it. Take it down the mountain and dispose of it properly-- just not in a place anyone might see while emptying the garbage."

Conner nodded, unspeakably glad that someone was in charge of his situation. "And then what?"

Kaldur pondered. "Maybe we'll meet you in town, we can go find a skirt that fits you."