Lex realized that Arkin had deliberately led them in the wrong direction several times during their trip, as they retraced their steps and passed through the various underground tunnels joining the museums on the Smithsonian campus. He was thoroughly disoriented after just minutes and had no idea if this, too, was deliberate or not.
They passed through a series of locked doors and Arkin paused before the most forbidding yet. "It's difficult to tell how much of his current condition is physical and how much is mental, particularly since we have no sense of what he was like before being so traumatized." He unlocked the door and Lex looked about what looked for all the world like an apartment, simply furnished but with comfortable furniture and warm earth tones. A woman, whose prominent and broadly-sculpted facial bones clearly indicated her kinship with Arkin, looked up from her book at the sound of their arrival, and seeing Lex, she got up swiftly.
"Mr. President," she said, levelly. Some signal seemed to pass from her brother to her, as her expression changed minutely, from wariness to cool observation. "I'm Carola Arkin."
"It's a pleasure to meet you," he said perfunctorily, eyes searching the room. He wasn't even trying to be discreet but suspected that she'd have seen through him immediately even if he had.
"He's in there." She still stood between him and the door she indicated. "It's one of his better days," she added. "I'll take you in."
The room was dimly lit. It held a bed, a comfortable chair near the bed, a low bookcase with a television and video player on top, and on another bookcase, a small stereo system that was quietly playing classical music, a Haydn symphony, Lex guessed. There was a figure in the bed, lying on its side, covers heaped on top, only dark hair showing that it was more than a pile of blankets.
The hair. Lex was overwhelmed by the feeling of desolation that came over him at the resemblance. It was so like Clark's. He already been moved by the alien's history and his determination to help and protect was redoubled, just by that resemblance.
"Stay here," she said quietly, and crossed the room where she bent to look at the figure. Her cool voice warmed as she addressed him. "There's somebody to see you, dear. He's going to help keep you safe. I'll be right here all the time, child."
There was no response but she nonetheless gestured for Lex to come to where she stood. Familiarity burned at his heart as he came across the room and around the bed, but when he looked at the alien's face, nothing had prepared him for absolute recognition. It was Clark. Clark, not raising his head or even looking at him. Clark, staring with blank, empty eyes like a dead man's, only an occasional blink revealing that he was not dead or a lifeless replica.
Lex wasn't sure if it was the desire to see him more closely or a simple inability to stand that had him kneeling next to the bed. He hadn't even realized that he'd reached for physical contact with Clark until her hand stopped his.
"He doesn't react well to being touched."
Anger at being denied what he wanted rose quickly but he crushed it down. "How do you even know?"
"There's a monitor on his wrist for pulse and blood pressure. It prints out in the other room. Any time he's touched, it either spikes or tumbles."
He twisted his neck to look directly at her. "And you call this one of his better days?"
Lex would have recognized her kinship to her brother just from the dryness in her voice, the calm that was more of a damning indictment than any rage would have been. "Sometimes, his eyes are open. For him, that's a good day."
Not moving his eyes from Clark's face, Lex said, equally levelly, "As it turns out, I can fill in a few of the blanks about his past. His name is Clark Kent. He grew up in Smallville, Kansas, where he was the adopted son of two farmers. For the two years I knew him, he was...my closest friend." He hesitated and then did not add that during the last month, Clark had been his lover. Let that remain between them. "He disappeared one July morning. We never knew what happened to him." Getting up--the wish to touch Clark becoming a palpable sensation in his hands, too much of a temptation--he added, prosaically, "Do you have a phone? I want to tell his parents."
"Just as a precaution, we don't use one from here. It's too easy to pinpoint a signal. Back in the museum."
Lex nodded automatically. The news that Clark was an alien was just beginning to sink in, with the realization that he was still alive. If he could call this being alive. He addressed Clark, speaking softly. "I'll be back soon. We all missed you and thought about you. Every day. We're here now, Clark, we're here."
***
Arkin and Lex were both silent as they made their way back to the museum. Lex was still trying to grasp what he had seen and heard. Without Clark present, it was difficult to believe it had truly happened. The astronomer's face showed nothing of his thoughts.
The first thing Arkin said was "Dial 9 for an outside line." Lex had to think for a moment to remember the Kents' number; on every phone he used regularly, it was programmed in.
"Hello?"
"Jonathan? It's Lex."
"What's wrong, son?" The worry in Jonathan's voice was unmistakable. So much for being reassuring and delivering the news as gently as possible, in carefully judged gradual steps.
"It's Clark. He's...been found."
"Alive?"
"Yes." He couldn't get out more than the syllable.
"But he's hurt." It wasn't a question.
"He didn't know me. He didn't know me at all." He hadn't meant to say that. He was going to be the one they could lean on, who could shoulder their grief and the even more painful hope as well as his own. But it was in words now, the furrows on his heart like a cat's raked clawmarks, offered to Jonathan to ask for comforting, like a child's skinned knee. He hurried on. "I'll arrange for someone to come get you. A few hours. I'm telling Pete and Lana next."
"We'll be ready. Hang in there, son, we'll get through this, too."
Next was Pete. He dialed a direct number which rang on only one phone in their home. "'Lo?" Pete was not a morning person and it was still early.
"Pete. Can you come to the Space Museum now, and bring Lana with you?"
"Sure, but?"
"I'll meet you there and explain." He wasn't sure that he'd be able to keep the tiny remnants of self-control if he had to find words again for Clark's condition. He wasn't sure about being able to do that, anyway.
He'd learned a lot about stilling his emotions but this went beyond any injury, real or imagined. There were thousands of suffering victims every day and if he felt anger on any single one's behalf, he'd either go insane or destroy the world as the only way to put an end to the pain. He'd had to make his empathy become distant, like figures seen through a telescope. Like Helen had when faced with the inevitable suffering and destruction of the human body. But when it came to Clark, it was impossible. It was all the agony of knowing and loving Clark so well that what Clark had endured and was enduring was mirrored in him, but magnified by knowing that the burden wasn't shared, but instead, copied in his own.
He saw, through the glass door, Pete and Lana hurrying across the museum campus. Lana was pregnant enough that the bulge showed clearly under her coat but almost running.
"It's Clark," he said, simply, as they came in. "He's alive."
***
*it wasn't real it wasn't real that's why I can't hold onto it but I want it back I don't even remember it but it was warm*
*no no no no right once it was right once wrong now wrong now everything*
*a story somebody told me a story a story a story about fire or was it me then even if I close my eyes I can feel when they're going to*
*not even an animal they kill the animals first*
*there was an eagle in the story like eagle's claws and beak claws and beak claws and beak*
*nobody helps nobody to help wanted to help nobody nobody*
*why can't I die I should be dead if I am there's not a grave all those graves none for me none for me don't I get one too*
*not again please not again*
*let me go warm only warm my blood how can I bleed that much and not die want to die let me die don't even want a grave just let me die cut deeper deeper deeper and I'll die*
*please how can I ask you I can't talk or move please did I ever have a voice or was it always this*
*it was different different*
*no never was never was dream wake up and it's real*
*there were other things once weren't there please somebody answer me tell me they were real and maybe I could feel them again*
They passed through a series of locked doors and Arkin paused before the most forbidding yet. "It's difficult to tell how much of his current condition is physical and how much is mental, particularly since we have no sense of what he was like before being so traumatized." He unlocked the door and Lex looked about what looked for all the world like an apartment, simply furnished but with comfortable furniture and warm earth tones. A woman, whose prominent and broadly-sculpted facial bones clearly indicated her kinship with Arkin, looked up from her book at the sound of their arrival, and seeing Lex, she got up swiftly.
"Mr. President," she said, levelly. Some signal seemed to pass from her brother to her, as her expression changed minutely, from wariness to cool observation. "I'm Carola Arkin."
"It's a pleasure to meet you," he said perfunctorily, eyes searching the room. He wasn't even trying to be discreet but suspected that she'd have seen through him immediately even if he had.
"He's in there." She still stood between him and the door she indicated. "It's one of his better days," she added. "I'll take you in."
The room was dimly lit. It held a bed, a comfortable chair near the bed, a low bookcase with a television and video player on top, and on another bookcase, a small stereo system that was quietly playing classical music, a Haydn symphony, Lex guessed. There was a figure in the bed, lying on its side, covers heaped on top, only dark hair showing that it was more than a pile of blankets.
The hair. Lex was overwhelmed by the feeling of desolation that came over him at the resemblance. It was so like Clark's. He already been moved by the alien's history and his determination to help and protect was redoubled, just by that resemblance.
"Stay here," she said quietly, and crossed the room where she bent to look at the figure. Her cool voice warmed as she addressed him. "There's somebody to see you, dear. He's going to help keep you safe. I'll be right here all the time, child."
There was no response but she nonetheless gestured for Lex to come to where she stood. Familiarity burned at his heart as he came across the room and around the bed, but when he looked at the alien's face, nothing had prepared him for absolute recognition. It was Clark. Clark, not raising his head or even looking at him. Clark, staring with blank, empty eyes like a dead man's, only an occasional blink revealing that he was not dead or a lifeless replica.
Lex wasn't sure if it was the desire to see him more closely or a simple inability to stand that had him kneeling next to the bed. He hadn't even realized that he'd reached for physical contact with Clark until her hand stopped his.
"He doesn't react well to being touched."
Anger at being denied what he wanted rose quickly but he crushed it down. "How do you even know?"
"There's a monitor on his wrist for pulse and blood pressure. It prints out in the other room. Any time he's touched, it either spikes or tumbles."
He twisted his neck to look directly at her. "And you call this one of his better days?"
Lex would have recognized her kinship to her brother just from the dryness in her voice, the calm that was more of a damning indictment than any rage would have been. "Sometimes, his eyes are open. For him, that's a good day."
Not moving his eyes from Clark's face, Lex said, equally levelly, "As it turns out, I can fill in a few of the blanks about his past. His name is Clark Kent. He grew up in Smallville, Kansas, where he was the adopted son of two farmers. For the two years I knew him, he was...my closest friend." He hesitated and then did not add that during the last month, Clark had been his lover. Let that remain between them. "He disappeared one July morning. We never knew what happened to him." Getting up--the wish to touch Clark becoming a palpable sensation in his hands, too much of a temptation--he added, prosaically, "Do you have a phone? I want to tell his parents."
"Just as a precaution, we don't use one from here. It's too easy to pinpoint a signal. Back in the museum."
Lex nodded automatically. The news that Clark was an alien was just beginning to sink in, with the realization that he was still alive. If he could call this being alive. He addressed Clark, speaking softly. "I'll be back soon. We all missed you and thought about you. Every day. We're here now, Clark, we're here."
***
Arkin and Lex were both silent as they made their way back to the museum. Lex was still trying to grasp what he had seen and heard. Without Clark present, it was difficult to believe it had truly happened. The astronomer's face showed nothing of his thoughts.
The first thing Arkin said was "Dial 9 for an outside line." Lex had to think for a moment to remember the Kents' number; on every phone he used regularly, it was programmed in.
"Hello?"
"Jonathan? It's Lex."
"What's wrong, son?" The worry in Jonathan's voice was unmistakable. So much for being reassuring and delivering the news as gently as possible, in carefully judged gradual steps.
"It's Clark. He's...been found."
"Alive?"
"Yes." He couldn't get out more than the syllable.
"But he's hurt." It wasn't a question.
"He didn't know me. He didn't know me at all." He hadn't meant to say that. He was going to be the one they could lean on, who could shoulder their grief and the even more painful hope as well as his own. But it was in words now, the furrows on his heart like a cat's raked clawmarks, offered to Jonathan to ask for comforting, like a child's skinned knee. He hurried on. "I'll arrange for someone to come get you. A few hours. I'm telling Pete and Lana next."
"We'll be ready. Hang in there, son, we'll get through this, too."
Next was Pete. He dialed a direct number which rang on only one phone in their home. "'Lo?" Pete was not a morning person and it was still early.
"Pete. Can you come to the Space Museum now, and bring Lana with you?"
"Sure, but?"
"I'll meet you there and explain." He wasn't sure that he'd be able to keep the tiny remnants of self-control if he had to find words again for Clark's condition. He wasn't sure about being able to do that, anyway.
He'd learned a lot about stilling his emotions but this went beyond any injury, real or imagined. There were thousands of suffering victims every day and if he felt anger on any single one's behalf, he'd either go insane or destroy the world as the only way to put an end to the pain. He'd had to make his empathy become distant, like figures seen through a telescope. Like Helen had when faced with the inevitable suffering and destruction of the human body. But when it came to Clark, it was impossible. It was all the agony of knowing and loving Clark so well that what Clark had endured and was enduring was mirrored in him, but magnified by knowing that the burden wasn't shared, but instead, copied in his own.
He saw, through the glass door, Pete and Lana hurrying across the museum campus. Lana was pregnant enough that the bulge showed clearly under her coat but almost running.
"It's Clark," he said, simply, as they came in. "He's alive."
***
*it wasn't real it wasn't real that's why I can't hold onto it but I want it back I don't even remember it but it was warm*
*no no no no right once it was right once wrong now wrong now everything*
*a story somebody told me a story a story a story about fire or was it me then even if I close my eyes I can feel when they're going to*
*not even an animal they kill the animals first*
*there was an eagle in the story like eagle's claws and beak claws and beak claws and beak*
*nobody helps nobody to help wanted to help nobody nobody*
*why can't I die I should be dead if I am there's not a grave all those graves none for me none for me don't I get one too*
*not again please not again*
*let me go warm only warm my blood how can I bleed that much and not die want to die let me die don't even want a grave just let me die cut deeper deeper deeper and I'll die*
*please how can I ask you I can't talk or move please did I ever have a voice or was it always this*
*it was different different*
*no never was never was dream wake up and it's real*
*there were other things once weren't there please somebody answer me tell me they were real and maybe I could feel them again*