Ko-fi thank-you sentences for redflawedglass behind the cut; they asked for dealer's choice, and I picked "Clark wakes up alive". ( chrono || non-chrono )
“I hope you don't mind me just showing up like this,” he says, gentle and apologetic. Conner never had enough choices in his life, short as it was. He feels like–Clark just wants better for him, this time. “Is it alright that I'm here?”
It was partially his fault, that Conner thought he couldn't choose things for himself for so long. Thought he couldn't have things he wanted. Thought he just had to accept whatever he was offered, more often than not.
Not always. Not every time. But–too much of the time.
If Clark can help him learn otherwise sooner . . .
Well. Of course he's going to try to.
. . . yes, appears very slowly in Clark's head, and he smiles at Conner again.
“Thank you,” he says. “I'm happy to hear that. I hope us meeting each other makes you happy too.”
Conner's face stays perfectly impassive, but his eyes go wet. He blinks, and Clark hears his heartbeat stutter again.
He could've done this last time. He could've done less than this, and Conner would've had a much easier and much less painful start to life outside Cadmus.
But he didn't, of course, so he can't do any less than this now.
“Call security,” Desmond says flatly. .
“On Superman?” Guardian asks in disbelief. “Sir, even if there was a reason to call security, I wouldn't do that to security.”
“He’s trespassing!” Desmond snaps. “And interfering with the subject, besides!”
“I mean, I don’t know if this is interfering . . .” Guardian says skeptically.
This is absolutely interfering, and Clark is going to be doing as much of it as (in)humanly possible, but he does prefer no one calling security and interrupting the conversation.
“Don’t mind me,” he says to them, as pleasant and sweet as Ma’s most passive-aggressive “bless your heart”. Then he smiles a little softer at Conner, trying to be . . . careful, maybe.
He did this so badly last time. Did so badly by Conner last time.
He doesn’t intend to do anything like that again.
Ever.
“It really is so good to meet you, kid,” he says gently. Simple and straightforward, still. Easy for a child to understand, he hopes–or at least easier. Conner had enough trouble understanding other people to begin with, and he can’t imagine it’d be any easier while operating a younger brain and with an even earlier interruption to his education uploads. “Would you mind if I hugged you now?”
Conner’s eyes . . . flicker, just barely. There’s confusion in them, Clark thinks, but it’s a little hard to tell. He’s even less expressive than the version of himself Clark’s used to.
. . . was used to.
Clark doesn’t think about that. Not right now.
. . . ‘hug’? appears in his head, slow and hesitant over an obviously unfamiliar word.
Clark debates throwing Desmond through a wall. Just a thin wall. Not a load-bearing one.
But definitely a wall.
“I mean I’d like to hold you,” he explains, because if Conner sees him get angry, he’ll blame himself for it. Of course he would, between his current age and the kind of things he’s likely had shoved into his brain so far. “Like you were holding your friend a moment ago.”
He points at the G-gnome to clarify, and Conner . . . hesitates. Nothing appears in Clark’s head.
“Call security immediately,” Desmond snaps at Guardian. “Now!”
“Sir–” Guardian starts, half-raising his hands, and Desmond’s expression turns murderous.
“That was an order, Guardian,” he says dangerously. Clark half-expects to feel G-gnomes in his mind or for Guardian to change his mind under their influence, but nothing happens.
He doesn’t look at Dubbilex, but he . . . wonders, a little.
Conner just barely shrinks in on himself, and Clark wonders how many times he’s been faced with an angry person so much bigger and older than him in real life, or even been out of his pod at all. Is this the first time? A regular occurrence? Something in-between?
The G-gnome hops up on Conner’s shoulders; leans forward over his head and inspects Clark curiously, tilting its own head. Conner freezes, and Clark sees the faintest trace of fear in the back of his eyes.
He wonders if the G-gnome’s putting it there, but Conner’s looking right at him.
So if the G-gnome is putting it there . . .
If it is, Clark can’t help but suspect it’s not actually a deliberate effort on the creature’s part, as opposed to a genuine by-product of Conner not knowing what to expect from him.
Not knowing if he’ll hurt the G-gnome, he means, remembering the way Conner had hesitated when he’d called it his friend.
Considering what he knows of how Desmond ran this place–is running this place right now . . .
“Hello,” Clark says, and smiles at the G-gnome. “It’s nice to meet you too.”
The G-gnome stares at him for a long, silent moment, and then slips back down behind Conner’s back and wraps its arms around his neck. Clark hears something like a whisper from another room, but not that clear, and Conner . . . hesitates, again.
Then the word hug appears in Clark’s mind again, this time tentative and longing, and he doesn’t hesitate himself at all. He scoops up Conner and stands up with him in the same moment, and Conner lets out a little breath as his thrumming heartbeat stutters in his chest, and Clark holds him against his own chest very, very carefully, as if he’s holding something more delicate than melting frost on a sunny morning or cracked porcelain.
Conner doesn’t seem to know what to do with himself; where to put his hands or arms. If he should hold onto him or lean into him or not.
Clark keeps him in his arms anyway, and swears to himself he’s not leaving without the kid. Not for anything. If Conner doesn’t want to come with him right now, then he’ll wait here with him until he does, no matter what happens outside.
If Conner never wants to come with him, well–then he’ll just stay, if that’s what it takes.
He’s not giving Desmond the chance to hurt or hide him. Not giving anyone that chance.
He wonders if the Conner he remembers even remembered being this small himself, or if it was so brief an experience that it didn’t stick in his head at all.
He suspects it might’ve been, and hates the thought.
Buzzes, appears in Clark’s head, still tentative. He doesn’t understand, for a moment, and then realizes Conner’s ear is practically against his chest. So he’s probably talking about . . .
“I always thought of it as more a ‘thrum’, myself,” he says, and Conner stares mutely at him. Their heartbeats aren’t a perfect match–even with cloned DNA, Conner isn’t quite Kryptonian enough, and his heart beats a little slower and harder than his does. The separate beats are more audible, too.
But it does still thrum, when it comes to it.
Warm, appears in Clark’s head too, and Conner ducks his head just enough to hide his face from Desmond when the tears start falling.
His expression doesn’t change at all, but the tears on his face are undeniable.
Maybe a load-bearing wall wouldn’t be so bad to throw Desmond through, Clark thinks, bundling the kid up tighter in his arms and wrapping his cape around him as he does. Then he looks at Guardian, and puts on the most pleasant smile he can manage without needing to actually throw Desmond through a load-bearing wall first.
“I appreciate you taking care of him, but it’s not good for him to be down in the dark like this,” he says, gently stroking what of Conner’s back the G-gnome isn’t perched on and pretending not to notice the fat, heavy tears dripping onto the El crest on his chest. “He needs the sun.”
“There’s, ah–a solar suit, sir,” Guardian says, but he looks uncomfortable even as he says it. “I mean–he’s being fed solar energy, not just . . . uh . . .”
He trails off, and looks much more uncomfortable; like he’s just realized what he’s saying. Maybe he has, given Desmond’s influence over the G-gnomes and what they do and don’t let people down here think.
Guardian still thinks he’s human himself right now, after all.
