Saturday at the mutant center is quite the experience for Clarice. Especially when it coincides with and unexpected reunion.
John and Clarice take the time to chill out on one of the couch of the staff room for a while after their lunch, and for the first time today Clarice can really see just how tired John really is. He's very good at hiding his pain, but when he dry swallows a few pills and lets himself slump onto the couch, his features look drawn. Clarice is sympathetic and grateful that he's comfortable enough with her to stop hiding.
"You're sure you can handle things this afternoon?" she asks. "I'm sure you could say you're not doing well and go home."
"I could," John says, not opening his eyes. "But it would mean canceling the youth club."
"Is it so bad if it's just this one time?"
"If I canceled every time I'm tired, it wouldn't just be this once. Usually one of the others can replace me, but... This club is really important to some of the kids. A lot of them come from abusive or complicated situations, and here they can find people they relate to."
"I get that. But your health is important too."
"I'll be fine," John shrugs. "You'll be the one running around with them."
"I understand that you can't just leave me with them unsupervised since I don't have an official status here, but let me do the work this afternoon, okay? You can just sit and watch."
"Sure. I hope you won't regret it," John smirks.
"Why would I?" Clarice asks.
"It can get...lively."
"How many kids are we talking about?"
"It's not the same every week, but anywhere from twenty to forty."
Clarice blinks. "Okay, that's more than I expected."
"Yes, a lot more people come on the weekend than during the week, and only a few actually enroll in the classes, but this is the only place in the city with activities for mutant kids. If they have visible mutations or can't always hide their power, they tend to get kicked out of clubs and sport teams."
Clarice nods. Throwing someone out because of their mutation is technically illegal, but she knows well how it usually plays out. Mutants rarely win lawsuits for discrimination, so organizations know they're unlikely to get sued, and they do whatever they want. Clarice herself has been expelled from more than one school for dubious reasons, all of them related to her not looking the way people thought she should.
She jumps from her slouched position beside John when there is a knock on the door.
"We're here!" John calls. "Come in."
He doesn't make a move to sit up, but Clarice reflexively smooths out her clothes and moves away from him slightly.
Sage walks in, barely raising an eyebrow at the sight of them together.
"Hey, guys. John told me you're staying this afternoon?" she asks Clarice.
"Yeah, I'm here to help," Clarice confirms.
"Then we should get moving. It's almost two, and we need to get the tables out into the main room."
"Right," John says, taking a look at his watch. "Let's go then."
Clarice doesn't know whether to admire or frown at how easily John hides his pain when he stands up. She can barely make out the wince on his face, and she realizes just how much he's let go in front of her the last few days. He leans on his cane walking out of the room, but his back is straight and his steps are strong and regular, which has to take a lot more effort than the more wobbly pace she witnessed just hours ago.
"We want to scatter the tables around by twos or threes so that the kids can group around them to do different activities," John explains, leading Clarice to the stacked tables and chairs at the back of the main room.
"I can do that," Clarice says precipitately, seeing John start to grab one of the tables. "You shouldn't−"
John lifts the table with his free hand and laughs. "Don't worry. As long as I can balance it, weight isn't a problem."
"Damn. Super-strength, right."
"This is pretty light. Can you handle the chairs?"
"Okay," Clarice nods. She can't help watching him for a bit, carrying the table with no apparent effort, before she picks up some of the chairs−two by two, because she doesn't have superhuman strength−to place them around the table he just put down.
Less than half an hour into the youth club, Clarice is dizzy from all the agitation. She's stopped counting how many people have come to introduce themselves, John acting as intermediary, and she's failed to remember most of their names.
It's not bad. Everyone seems nice, both the kids and the few parents who have come with the younger children. Naya and Skyler are back, only slightly less shy than earlier but excitedly telling all their friends about Clarice, proud that they were the firsts to meet her.
Groups seems to form naturally, either by interest or established friendships. Some kids have brought laptops to play video games, while others go straight to a set of cabinets at the back of the room to take out craft supplies.
"On Saturday they do whatever they want," John explains. "When we have more people supervising, we take some of them to the park to play outside games, but it's raining anyway. On weekdays we try to get them to do their homework, and they can ask for help if they need it."
Sage naturally gravitates toward the video game group, and Clarice gets to see her use her mutation for the first time. It's subtle, and Clarice doesn't understand what she does exactly at first, but after observing her for a while, she can make a guess. It's actually the teenagers around her who give Clarice a clue: they've come with multiple games and keep asking Sage to help them get out of tight spots. After a second of staring at the screen, Sage can usually tell them how to beat the game.
John goes to sit at the craft table with his back to the wall, the best viewpoint to watch as much of the room as possible. Some of the older teenagers, including Naya and Skyler's group, haven't chosen any activity and are simply chatting, settled around tables or even sitting on the floor.
"What should I do?" Clarice asks John.
"I usually try to go around to see if anyone wants help, they're sometimes too intimidated to ask. Otherwise it's mostly just checking that everything's going alright."
Clarice nods. "I think I can do that."
She tours the craft table first, quietly complimenting the kids who have already started a project. She's not much of a craft person, so she can't offer much advice beyond showing one little girl how to glue her drawing onto a card, but the children seem to appreciate her presence.
She's having a serious conversation with a twelve-year-old boy on whether to draw his tree in blue or yellow when she hears someone new comes in. People have been trickling in since Sage opened the center, so she doesn't think anything of it.
"This tree has to be yellow," the boy insists, though he was arguing for blue just five seconds ago.
"Sure," Clarice agrees. "It will look really good in yellow."
"But should I use a colored pencil or a pen?"
"What do you like more?"
"Um...it's easier to color with a pen," the boy decides.
"Then there you go," Clarice smiles, amused.
She stands back up to move on, and realizes she's seen all the kids around this table. She looks for John, who hasn't moved but is now talking with an older woman. She has three kids in tow, though the two teenage boys move away quickly. The little girl stays close to the woman, intimidated.
What strikes Clarice first is that all three of them are very visible mutants. They're not the only ones, but the majority of the kids even here have invisible mutations. She looks more closely at the woman, approaching them, to discern any sign of a mutation, and realizes her face is familiar.
She's recognized at the same time.
"Oh my, Clarice?"
"Denise?" Clarice asks carefully.
"My child," Denise says, opening her arms. Clarice has a moment of hesitation before she hugs the woman.
"I thought I'd never see you again," Denise murmurs in her chest. The tiny woman's head barely reaches Clarice's shoulder now.
"It's been a long time," Clarice acknowledges.
"How many years now? You've grown and changed so much."
"I was fifteen."
"And now you're all grown up. And I've grown old."
"You're not old," Clarice says, though she can see the new lines on Denise's face. She wasn't all that young when Clarice lived with her, so she must be in her mid-sixties at least now. "You're still fostering?"
"As you can see," Denise nods to the little girl still hanging onto her hand. She's maybe nine years old, and parts of her face are a striking blue color. "This is Norah."
"Hi Norah," Clarice smiles.
Norah doesn't answer, but she looks up at Clarice with curiosity.
"You know each other?" John asks, looking like he doesn't want to interrupt even though he's curious.
"Denise was my foster mom for a couple of years," Clarice answers.
John smiles widely. "Well that's quite a coincidence! I had no idea."
He quickly makes eye contact with Clarice, as if to check that she's really okay, then turns back to Denise.
"How are you?" he asks her. "You haven't come around here in a while."
"Yes, we have a new foster child and she needed some time to adapt. The boys are old enough to come on their own now, so I stayed home with Norah."
"Of course. I'm glad you've come today, though. Do you like drawing, Norah?"
The little girl nods.
"Do you want to sit over here and draw something? You can use anything on the table, and Denise can stay really close if you want."
Norah doesn't say anything, but she obediently sits down and pulls a sheet of paper to her. She's close enough that she can see and hear them, and Clarice sees the boy sitting beside her lean over and introduce himself. Norah smiles to him shyly, though she still doesn't say a word.
"She's still a bit hesitant," Denise says. "She didn't have the best experiences before coming to our house. Most of the children we take in have been traumatized in some way."
Clarice looks away almost involuntarily at that. She tries to gauge John's reaction, but he stays stoical, if compassionate. Of course he already knows Clarice's life hasn't been an easy ride, but to hear it enunciated like this rattles even Clarice.
"How are you doing?" Denise asks John, seeing his cane propped up against the table.
"Not very mobile today," John answers, "but I'm alright."
Denise nods and doesn't ask more.
"So, how come you're here?" she turns to Clarice.
"Uh, I work at the Underground Café," Clarice says.
"Lorna and Marcos's café, right?"
"Yes. And...John and I are together," Clarice jumps the step she's been hesitant to take. John has introduced her to all the kids as his girlfriend, so it's time she acknowledges it as well.
"You two, uh? Yes, I guess I can see that."
Clarice smiles hesitantly. Even though she briefly considered Denise as a mother figure when she was a teenager, she's not sure that she's ready for the woman to give her opinion about her love life nearly fifteen years later.
"So you've been bringing your kids here for a long time?" she asks instead.
"About six months, now, right?" Denise turns to John. "We heard about the center when John here took over and it was in the newspaper."
"There weren't many children activities before that," John says. "Lorna and I thought it would be good to have this youth club."
"It really is. Our children can rarely go anywhere they feel safe and accepted."
Not that you tried to find places all that hard, Clarice thinks but doesn't say. But maybe Denise and Karl did try, more than she thought at the time. She felt imprisoned there, but at least she was safe. Something she's never been since. She's only just beginning to stop looking over her shoulder all the time, to relax at the café, and it's the only place beside her apartment where she doesn't feel out of place.
Maybe there was no other safe place.
"Thank you, ma'am," John smiles.
"No, John, thank you." Denise says. "Now I'm going to go see how Norah is doing."
By the time everyone has left, the craft supplies and games have long stopped being restricted to one group of tables, and there is clutter scattered all over the room. Some of the older teenagers put away the supplies they used, but most of them just left them on the tables and neither John nor Sage insisted on them cleaning up.
"We'd rather they have as much time as possible to play," John explains to Clarice. "Too many of them are going home to places where they don't get to be children."
Clarice promises Denise before she gathers her foster children and leaves that she will come again on other Saturdays, and that they can stay in contact. The older woman grabs Clarice's hand for a moment, as if to assure herself that Clarice is truly there and real.
Naya and Skyler are among the last ones to stay. Skyler just waves at John, and more timidly at Clarice, before grabbing his backpack and walking out, but Naya approaches them.
"Do you want me to stay and help?" she asks.
Clarice hesitates and defers to John, catching his eyes.
"You can stay if you want," he says. "But you don't have to."
"I'm happy to help," Naya says.
"Thank you, Naya. There are a lot of craft supplies to put away, so we should get on with it."
"Shouldn't she be heading home?" Clarice asks once Naya has walked away toward the supply cabinets.
"I try to let her stay when I can," John answers. "She's old enough that it's not really a problem, and she needs it."
"What do you mean?"
"Her parents aren't taking it well that she's a mutant. It's been a couple of years since she manifested, but they still won't accept it. They barely let her come here, and only because she's sixteen and they can't control her forever. She's here as soon as we open every day, and she never leaves before closing. It's obvious that she doesn't want to go home."
"I see," Clarice nods, putting colored pencils back into their box. John helps her from his chair, but she stops him, seeing how exhausted he looks.
"You doing okay?" she asks.
"I'm sorry I can't be more help," John grimaces.
"John, will you stop apologizing?" Clarice scolds him gently. "You did all the heavy lifting, and you shouldn't feel guilty for being in pain."
John sighs. "I just hate feeling useless."
"John, have you seen all these kids? They have a safe, accepting place to come to every week, and it's all thanks to you. You heard what Denise said."
"Yeah, I guess."
Clarice rolls her eyes, almost angry that he doesn't seem to see what she sees.
"When I was living with Denise and Karl, I dreamed of a place like this. You made that happen for these children. And you think you're useless?"
John raises his arms in surrender. "Okay, okay. I can't take all the credit, Lorna did a lot of the work, but I get your point."
"Good. Now you sit here, and I'll go help Naya and Sage. You can always handle the tables once they're clutter-free if you feel like it."
"Right," John grumbles, but he sits back in his chair and lets her go. Clarice gathers the three boxes of pens and pencils that she's filled and goes to put them back in the cabinet.
"Do you like it here?" Naya asks her quietly while they're working side by side. There's some timidity left in her voice, but she's more at ease outside of John's hearing.
"It's a nice place," Clarice answers. She can see John nod discreetly from the corner of her eye, and she reflects that they're probably not actually out of his range.
"Will you come back?"
There's a sort of yearning in Naya's question that Clarice doesn't understand fully, but she nods.
"I think so, yes," she says.
The smile on John's face at her answer is worth hundreds of teenager-filled Saturday afternoons, in Clarice's opinion.
I hope you liked this chapter! I know I enjoyed writing it very much. We have some side characters showing up here who will probably pop up now and again, though the focus is still on Thunderblink.
Tell me what you thought of this chapter and where the story is going!